


The Croatoan

by coplins



Series: Volatile Chemistry 'Verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Addiction, Angst, Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Bloodplay, Blow Jobs, Bullying, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, F/M, Feminization, Fluff, Frottage, Gaslighting, Hidden Cameras, Knifeplay, M/M, Manipulation, Manipulative Relationship, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Michael friendly, Minor Character Death, Moral Ambiguity, Multiple Orgasms, Murder, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Original Character, Pain, Painful Sex, Pining, Pleasure Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Self-Harm, Sexual Harassment, Suicidal Sam, Suicidal Thoughts, Timestamp, Torture, Transgender, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, Voyeurism, Withdrawal, forbidden relationship, mention of child death, normalised violence, transgender original character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-08 07:53:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 52
Words: 152,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3201401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coplins/pseuds/coplins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aleksandr "Sasha" Chaadayev is a Croatoan. A lifeguard/hitman/enforcer/handyman for the <i>Porodica</i>, the fabled Mafia family. He recruits the 19 years old Castiel to become a Croatoan just like him. The young man ends up getting under his skin, making himself a vital part of Sasha's life. When Cas betrays him Sasha seeks revenge. Unwittingly this will lead to him having a major impact on the lives of our boys in Volatile Chemistry. Sasha's actions will affect them all without them ever knowing.</p><p>Timestamps of Castiel and Sasha's time together, plus things that happened to Sasha after Cas left him. This won't make any sense at all unless you've read chapter 56-58 in Volatile Chemistry, the first work in this series. The chapters are not necessarily in order of when they happen. None of this is necessary to read to get the plot in Volatile Chemistry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Things Castiel didn't tell Lucifer - part 1

**Author's Note:**

> The Volatile Chemistry'Verse has [it's own Tumblr](http://volatile-chemistry-fanfic.tumblr.com/). Even if all stories from this 'verse will be posted here sooner or later, some of them are posted there in advance. So is announcements about updates and so on. My askbox is open there if you want to discuss anything concerning this fic that I may not talk openly about here while answering comments. (like spoilers for an instance, or confirming or denying theories) So feel free to follow. :)

**Relationship:** Cas/Sasha, Cas/Other

* * *

Eight weeks into Castiel’s time with Sasha and two weeks after his initiation his and Sasha’s relationship took an unforeseen turn. They went to a _Porodica_ -run brothel straight from a job because Sasha wanted to get laid. Cas had yet to come down from the adrenaline rush. This was a city a couple of hours away from their current home base and a traffic jam had almost messed up everything as they arrived too late and had been seen by someone that wouldn’t have seen them had they come a couple of minutes earlier. The alarm went up and suddenly what should have been a simple in-and-out turned into a veritable death trap. Yet they made it out alive and almost unscatched. Cas was still achingly hard and riding his high, ultra sharp senses and aggression held under tentative check.

They were shown into a luxurious suite with comfortable sofas, a pole in the middle of the room and an adjoining bedroom. Champagne was served and six beautiful girls dressed in lingerie came in to dance and cater to their every need. They both sat down in a sofa each while the girls put on a show. They were not run-of-the-mill kind of prostitutes. Only the best was offered croatoans. Coppery tinted, ebony, and pale white skin writhed around the pole and against each other. Hair soft as silk. Brown, blue, and hazel eyes framed by long lashes. Plush pink lips with inviting smiles. Cas wasn’t interested. He was antsy and annoyed and did not want to be there despite the smorgasbord of beautiful females in front of him.

Sasha beckoned two of the women to him and stopped paying attention to Cas as soon as he had a lap full of a brunette and a blond eager to please. Cas sipped his champagne watching Sasha make out with the two women, while he tried to will his post-fight erection to go away.

”No need to be jealous. I’ll make it just as good for you.”

Cas jerked. He hadn’t noticed the ebony woman come over. All seductive and alluring she leaned in and stroked his head. “Don’t touch me,” Cas warned.

”Don’t be coy, sweetheart. I can see you want to…” she purred and leaned closer. She reached out and stroked his erection through his jeans.

The cold rage in his belly uncoiled and he lashed out, the hit sent her flying backwards. “I said _do **not** touch me_!” He was up on his feet without even thinking about it, staring down at her and ready to strike again. Strong and proud as she was, she didn’t cry or beg. He saw fear in her eyes, despite it she tilted her chin up proudly and waited. The room had fallen silent at his outburst.

”Everyone of you girls, wait outside. I need to speak with my partner.” Sasha’s voice broke the deadlock and the women scurried to obey. When the door closed behind them Sasha came to stand in front of Cas with a frown. “What was that? No need to get rowdy. If she isn’t good enough you could pick another one to relieve yourself with,” he said and made a gesture towards Cas’ crotch.

”No. You want me to fuck those girls I will, but not when I’m still riding my high. You don’t get it, do you?” Cas grabbed Sasha’s hand and pressed it against his erection, the older man tensing up, face getting hard and hostile. “This is personal. _Intimate_. This is caused by me _feeling something_. This is me being me. I’m not going to let a _whore_ share that! The only one I’d tolerate touching me when I’m like this is _you_. Because you _were there_. You shared the moment with me,” he said heatedly and let go of Sasha’s hand fully expecting the older man to yank his hand away as if burned and possibly lash out.

But he didn’t. Sasha hesitated a moment and then began to rub Cas’ cock through his jeans, staring at him angrily as if to dare him to make him stop. Surprised, but quick to adapt, Cas bucked into it and let his head fall against Sasha's shoulder. No words were spoken, only the sound of Cas’ ragged breathing filled the room as Sasha worked his cock through layers of fabric, Cas making counter movements - thrusting into his hand. The only other point of contact was Cas’ forehead against Sasha’s shoulder. Cas came with a bitten back hiss and Sasha removed his hand, letting Cas rest his head on his shoulder until his breathing evened out.

”Now. Will you behave?” Sasha asked in a flat voice when Cas stepped away from him.

”Yes,” Cas answered, voice equally flat but rattled on the inside. Sure, he had said he’d tolerate it, but he had not anticipated how vulnerable it’d make him feel. Or how good it would feel. Despite Sasha’s rigid posture and hostile appearance.

”Good,” Sasha said and went to beckon the girls back in.

Cas spent the rest of the evening making up to the beautiful african queen for lashing out at her. Taking her from professional resilience to true pleasure and honest smiles. Cas was not aware Sasha’s eyes never left him after that.

* * *

They acted as if nothing had happened. Did their jobs, played their football games with the other Croatoans, went out drinking, hung out at home. But there was an undercurrent of tension from Sasha’s side. It spilled over either as violence or post-fight groping at times. Sasha always seemed angry when it did, yet they didn’t talk about it. He’d initiate it when they were out of danger if Cas was still hard. Cas didn’t complain. Why would he? When Sasha could out of the blue grab him and push him up against a nearby surface, jerk him off through his pants and let him come down from his high with an orgasm. It was a non-verbal _”Good boy”_ , and Cas started craving it as he once craved Father’s proud pat on the shoulder.

The next turn in their relationship came one day when they were out drinking and Cas seduced a man instead of a woman, took him outside and fucked him against a wall. Sasha came out to find him and just stopped dead. He watched without a word and Cas couldn’t figure out what he was thinking. A moment of fear that Sasha would change his mind about having him around because of this turned Cas defiant. Unbeknownst to himself his fighting face slipped on as he locked eyes with Sasha, never letting his gaze stray. He fucked the guy harder, one hand pressed over his mouth to mute cries while he possessively sucked and bit marks onto his neck and shoulders. All the while locking eyes with Sasha, issuing challenge, a dare, with his gaze. Sasha remained stony faced through it all and didn’t comment. The backlash for this came the next day.


	2. Things Cas didn't tell Lucifer - part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens after Sasha spots Castiel fucking another guy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **BEWARE! - Although this is fully consensual from both participants, it plays out in a rape-like manner!**

* * *

The next day Cas is in the kitchen making coffee, shuffling around in just a pair of sweatpants. Sasha is sleeping in for once. It’s rare that Cas wakes up by his own and have to make the coffee and he is pissed about it, slamming extra hard with pots and pans and cupboard doors. Sasha is evil. This is him punishing Cas for yesterday. His purpose in life is to mess with Cas. Must be, or there would have been coffee waiting for him as usual. Well, let’s see if he can sleep when Cas is banging about in the kitchen, making as much noise as possible. _Bloody twat._

He loads the coffee maker and turns it on. Taking two cups from the cupboard above, he slams the door and drops the cups on the counter with a clatter. Suddenly a hand yanks his head up and rams his temple into the cupboard door, stars forming in front of his eyes. He kicks out backwards and hears a grunt that is unmistakably Sasha’s when it connects with a leg. He tries to shake off his daze and scramble for one of the kitchen knives. Sasha pins him against the counter at the same time Cas gets a hold of a knife, but Sasha’s hand covers his own holding the knife. His arm is forced under his throat so both their bends of arms are under his chin, forcing his head up. The knife nicks a shallow cut on Cas’ shoulder. He hisses more in protest than in pain. Sasha pulls his pants down with the other hand, stomping them down with a foot and Cas’ eyes go wide.

_What is he…? Is he..?_

Cas stills and spreads his legs wider, still trying to comprehend, but not really believing what is happening. Sasha grabs the oil on the countertop and Cas twists his head so he can see what’s going on.

_Dear Lord he is! I didn’t see that coming._

Sasha is naked and opens the bottle with his teeth while he holds Cas down. There’s no mistaking his intentions as he pours the oil over Cas entrance and his own cock, heedless of the oil getting on the floor and Cas’ pants. His face is pinched and concentrated, he looks _pissed the hell off_. Cas relaxes down on the countertop as good as he can presenting his ass for the taking. Sasha throws the bottle into the sink and starts pushing in. _This is going to hurt._

That’s all he manages to think before his thought process in occupied with _painpainpainpainpainpainpain_! His back arches upward involuntarily and he bites down on Sasha’s forearm muting a scream. It hurts. _Badly._ He has trouble getting air to his lungs, taking short, cut off breaths―tearless sobs. Sasha stills once he is fully sheathed, his free hand squeezing Cas’ hip hard enough to leave fingerprint bruises. Cas grip has tightened on the knife, involuntarily digging another cut on his shoulder. He doesn’t even notice until the pain becomes bearable as his body produces and pumps his blood full of painkilling chemicals. He lets go of the knife before he can do any more damage to himself. Sweat leaks through his pores as a response to the pain.

He has experienced this before. But that time he was very much an unwilling to participate. A risk that came with the lifestyle he’d been living. Not so now or he wouldn’t have offered himself up when he caught on Sasha’s intentions. What he did learn from that experience however, was that it hurt less if he was fucked harder and faster than it did if he was fucked slow, unlike it did when prepped good and proper.

”Come on, Sasha, _move_!” He grits out between clenched teeth.

He gets a grunt in response then Sasha acquises. He drapes himself fully over Cas’ back, one arm circles around his stomach and their fingers interlace where Sasha’s hand is covering the hand previously holding the knife. Cas twists his head as much as he can to look as Sasha, only to see the silver eyed man staring at the blood flowing out of the cuts on his shoulder with hunger in his eyes.

Cas flicks his tongue out towards the blood and Sasha’s eyes jump to his. Cas makes a little nod, hoping to get the message across. He does. Sasha’s lips attaches themselves to the cuts, laving and suckling at the blood with a needy sound. It stings a bit, but feels good all the same with the hot wet mouth at his skin.

”C’mon Sash, faster, _harder_!” Cas urges on and fucks himself back on Sasha’s cock as good as he can.

Sasha complies and soon the pleasure of it overrides the pain. It’s fast, it’s dirty, it’s rough. None of them are loud. Only the sound of bodies slapping together, their ragged breaths and the gurgling from the coffee maker can be heard. The scent of coffee mingles with the coppery scent of blood. Their combined scent of sweat, strong from the day before wraps around Cas’ senses and he loves it. They slide slick together, Sasha’s warm chest and stomach against his back. Hair glued to their damp foreheads and cheeks flushed. Despite the manner in which it happens, Cas revels in this display of dominance and ownership. All his worries about being thrown out because of what happened yesterday are gone.

It doesn’t last long until Sasha’s breath stutters and his movements become jerky and finally still. He sags on top of Cas, resting his forehead against his Cas shoulder. They both pant, trying to regain their normal breathing in the aftermath. Cas’ hole throbs around Sasha’s softening cock.

”Was that a reward or a punishment?” Cas asks at last.

” _Fuck!_ ” Sasha hisses and clenches his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut.

”Yes I got that part. Hard to miss, really, all things considered,” Cas answers with a tired smirk.

Sasha begins to pull away but Cas holds on to him, pulling him back close with the help of their interlaced hands across his chest. ”If you walk away right now Sash, I swear, by the Lord and all his minions, I _will_ stab you in your sleep!” Cas growls warningly.

Sasha falls back and rests heavily over Cas, the arm around his stomach pushing up to embrace his chest. He chuckles self-deprecatingly and nuzzles Cas’ hair. “This was not good, princess,” he says.

”Could have been better,” Cas agrees.

He feels Sasha shake from silent laughter. “Not what I meant, princess. This was not healthy.”

Cas feels genuine laughter bubble up inside. “Unlike the rest of our way of living you mean?” he asks grinning, twisting his head around to get a good look at the older man. He’s bloody beautiful like this. Face relaxed and flushed, covered with a faint sheen of sweat. His short silvery hair the colour of iron where it wetly has clumped together, curling slightly, sticking to his forehead. Relaxation has all but wiped out the evidence of age. He looks younger. His lips are swollen and red from sucking on the cuts until he stemmed the bleeding. They are curved in a soft smile that grows wider with Cas’ comment. And those amazing eyes… He has long dark lashes any woman would envy. Right now a multitude of emotions reflect back at Cas out of their metallic sheen. Defeat, sadness, tiredness. But also humour, affection, and warmth.

”Point taken.” Sasha’s thumb strokes absently over the side of Cas hand. He sighs. “This can’t happen again.”

Cas snorts derisively. “I’m sorry for forcing you,” he says dryly.

”Fuck. I don’t know what came over me.” Guilt flickers over Sasha’s face. He hides his face on Cas’ shoulder.

Cas just chuckles. “I’m not bothered.” He hides his wince when Sasha’s dick slips out of him. “Although I would appreciate a bit more prepping the next time you come knocking.” He places a kiss on the back of Sasha’s hand that’s still interlaced with his own. “You get to clean the kitchen up. It wouldn’t look good if we slip and break our necks on oil patches. You made a mess, now you deal with it.”

Sasha chuckles. “Are you always this bossy after sex?”

”Lack of ready-made coffee may play a part too?” Cas theorizes.

Sasha laughs and kisses him between the shoulderblades before he disentangles himself and leaves the kitchen. Cas straightens up with a grimace of pain and pours himself some coffee. Sasha comes back into the kitchen and puts a pill on the counter beside Cas. “Painkiller. Tell me if you need more, okay princess? I’m going to take a shower now,” he says. Cas just grunts in response and downs the pill with his coffee when Sasha leaves again. He feels come leak out of his ass and run down along his leg and feels oddly content about it.

Two cups of coffee later he goes into the bathroom. The shower is still running. Cas steps into the shower stall. Sasha is sitting on the floor in a corner, arms hugging his legs and forehead resting against his knees. He looks up when Cas steps in. Cas doesn’t pay him any attention, just takes a shower and cleans himself, getting unreadable looks by Sasha. When he steps out again Sasha speaks up. “There’s a good salve in the cabinet. The one with the blue lid.” He still hasn’t moved from the floor.

Cas grunts noncommittally and opens the cabinet. He uses the salve on his pucker and the cool substance feels great. Cas has gone to bed again once Sasha emerges. Then they spend the rest of the day just watching movies on TV. It’s business as usual. No one of them says anything about what happened in the morning.


	3. In my bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha POV - Castiel surprises him.

* * *

The first time it happens Sasha freaks the fuck out. He has stopped locking the door to Dmitri’s room a week ago, no longer concerned about the young man running away. He has definitely repaid his debt and even if Sasha hadn’t said it out loud―Dmitri is free to leave and Sasha wouldn’t come after him. But Dmitri stays.

Sasha wakes up when the bed dips, heart hammering in his chest, reacting instantly by grabbing his gun and pointing it at the threat before he’s even awake enough to sort through what’s happening. Dmitri is crawling under the comforter beside him, seemingly unbothered by the gun pointed at him.

”What the hell are you doing?!”

”I don’t like to sleep alone.”

Sasha thinks he might blow some kind of fuse, have severe cerebral haemorrhage, or something. “Get out!”

Dmitri makes a whiny noise in protest but doesn’t move.

”Get the fuck out of my bed or I will fucking shoot you!!”

”But Sa- _aash_ …” Cas whines, fucking _pouting_.

Sasha cocks the gun. “On the count of three… _One_...”

”Alright, alright!” Dmitri gets off the bed and gives Sasha a stinky eyed pout before exiting the bedroom chin held high. Sasha keeps his gun trained on the younger man all the while, and keeps it pointing at the door for another five minutes before he finally puts it down and falls back on his pillow. It takes a while for his pulse to calm. He doesn’t sleep again that night.

* * *

The second time it happens Sasha wakes up as soon as Dmitri enters his bedroom, all bundled up in his own comforter. He crawls into bed beside Sasha without a word. This time Sasha doesn’t bother with words. He kicks Dmitri on the hip, shoving him off the bed with an indignant yelp. Dmitri sits up, only his head poking up over the bedside, hair in a disarray and comforter still bundled around him. He narrows his eyes sulkily at Sasha who counters with a stern _what-did-I-tell-you_ -look. Dmitri huffs and stomps out of the bedroom.

* * *

The third time it happens is a couple of days after the attack in their apartment. Once again Sasha wakes up when the bed dips and Dmitri is swathed in his own comforter. He burrows into the pillow next to Sasha. “You can shoot me if you want, I’m going to sleep,” he mumbles, his back turned towards the older man. He falls asleep quite promptly and Sasha lays wide awake, staring at the human burrito at his side, only strands of those gold tinted locks sticking up. After maybe twenty minutes Sasha snorts and turns his back, falling asleep. When he wakes up in the morning Dmitri is back in his own bed. Sasha finds the boy-wonder so very strange.

* * *

The fourth time it happens is a week after Sasha practically raped Dmitri in the kitchen. Dmitri doesn’t seem to see it that way, but Sasha does, and it’s eating at his insides, gnawing his conscious raw. And yes, he has one. Just because he kills people for a living does not mean he wants to hurt people he cares for. And he cares, _by God_ , he cares! It scares him. He doesn’t exactly know _how_ he cares for Dmitri, just that he does. 

This time Sasha is awake, reading a book, when Dmitri comes in all bundled up in his comforter. Sasha watches silently as Dmitri crawls up on the bed and burrows into the pillow beside him. He yawns and looks at Sasha. “Good night, Sash,” he says and closes his eyes.

Sasha blinks at him a couple of times, a tiny frown creasing his forehead. Then he gives himself a mental shake. “Good night, Princess,” he says and continues reading. It does not take long before Dmitri’s breathing evens out. He almost, but not quite, snores. It’s oddly comfortable. Sasha keeps darting glances at his face―or rather, what’s visible of it. Studying cheekbones, and how his lashes throws shadows underneath his eyes. After a while Dmitri turns over in his sleep and Sasha puts his book away. On impulse he reaches out and strokes the younger man’s soft hair, eliciting a content little sigh from him. Sasha turns off the light and then twists his hand firmly into Dmitri’s hair, giving it a tug. 

Dmitri jerks and wakes with a confused “Huh?” 

Sasha tugs at his hair again. “Good night, Princess,” he repeats into the darkness. Dmitri sighs contentedly and makes a purring sound. Sasha’s lips tug at the corners in amusement. They fall asleep like that. When Sasha wakes up again the next morning he is still holding on to the young man’s hair. He lies listening to his soft almost-but-not-quite-snores for a couple of minutes, feeling content. Then he disentangles himself and gets up to make breakfast.

* * *

The last time they fall asleep together in Sasha’s bed is different. Sasha has broken one of his own rules so they’re both high, albeit on different drugs. The result is the same though. They’re not holding anything back, inhibitions are gone. There are kisses and soft caresses involved. When they fall asleep there’s nothing to separate their naked bodies. Dmitri is draped over him, head on his chest and Sasha's nose is buried in the young man’s hair.

He wakes up with a hang over from the drug he took the day before. Dmitri has curled in on himself like a small child, head still rested on Sasha’s shoulder. Sasha is unprepared for the overwhelming sense of affection that washes over him, constricting his chest. He strokes the hair out of Dmitri’s face and places a kiss on his forehead before he disentangles himself and gets out of bed. By the bedroom door he stops and lets his gaze linger on the sleeping man for a solid five minutes before he exits. He doesn’t know it yet, but this is the last time he will see Dmitri for a very long time…

* * *


	4. Mixed emotions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha does not know how he feels about Cas.

* * *

It doesn’t follow conventions. He can’t put a label on what’s going on. Just… Most of the time there’s only a great sense of friendship, partnership, and nothing else. And when they hook up with girls Sasha doesn’t feel an ounce of jealousy. He may perhaps enjoy watching the younger man fucking a girl a little more than usual. But then again, he has always been turned on by watching other guys fuck.

It’s in the interaction with other men that messes with Sasha’s mind. Purely sexual things he has only seen Dmitri do to a man twice. The first time he had seen it he had kept hidden, but not been able to look away. Dmitri had been giving a man a blowjob in a parking lot. The man was sitting in the back seat, legs spread outside the car and Dmitri kneeling on the ground between them. Dmitri was sucking like he really enjoyed it, like the man was doing _him_ a favour. He kept making these needy little noises and all of it just went straight to Sasha’s dick. Sasha was fine watching it until the man twisted his fingers into Dmitri’s goldtinted lightbrown locks and pushed him down over his cock, fucking up until Dmitri gagged. Still, Dmitri didn’t seem to mind. Sasha however felt white hot rage bubbling up as acid in his belly. He felt pure hatred for the man. He had no right treating Dmitri that way.Was nowhere near good enough. Then the man came straight down Dmitri’s throat and Dmitri milked his cock, hungry for more, until the oversensitized man squirmed and begged him to stop.

When Dmitri went back inside again Sasha got into his car and followed the man as he drove off. He followed him all the way to what presumably was his apartment. There he screwed on a silencer on his gun and broke in. His intention was to put a bullet in the man’s head for defiling Goldi with his unworthiness, which he also subsequently did. But looking down at the dead man he couldn’t help himself from emptying the rest of his mag into him with a sneer.

The second time they were out drinking together. Sasha was chatting up some woman and Dmitri turned his attention to a good looking man in his late twenties. Sasha felt very discomforted by watching Dmitri switch on his charm towards the man. Later that night Sasha felt it was time to go home but Dmitri was nowhere to be found. Sasha went outside and spotted Dmitri and the man by the wall on the side of the building. He was struck dumb by the sight. Dmitri was fucking the man up against the wall and spotted him. He couldn’t look away, didn’t want to. And Dmitri locked gaze with him, totally unabashed. He got the same intense aggressive expression as he had when he saved Sasha’s life during the attack on their apartment. Only this time it was directed at him in a hostile manner, issuing challenge, radiating defiance. It turned Sasha on at the same time as it made him very, _very_ , angry. Unlike when watching the blowjob this didn’t make him hostile toward the stranger getting fucked though, as it was Dmitri who was dominating and taking what he wanted.

But it wasn’t just the sexual interaction with men that messed with Sasha’s head. It was _any_ interaction with men. He disliked when Dmitri was too friendly with the other Croatoans. Especially when he expressed admiration. As an example: One of the guys, Richard, was exceedingly good at football. One day he had made an absolutely beautiful goal and Dmitri had gone all wide eyed and awed and said “Oh Lord! Did you see that?”. At that point Sasha wanted to stab Richard. Not a healthy reaction when a team member scores a goal. He did not acknowledge or act upon these feelings, they weren’t rational.

Dmitri caused a lot of conflicting emotions in him. Although he felt totally secure about going into extremely dangerous situations with Dmitri and fully expected him to have Sasha’s back and take care of himself he also felt extremely protective of the man. 

He felt very uncomfortable by the young man’s adoration. He was annoyed by how Dmitri would treat him as if he was way above the younger man’s status at times. He wanted Dmitri to view them as equals, as partners. But at the same time he thoroughly enjoyed the admiration, that dog-like loyal affection. How Dmitri would look at him as if he was some kind of god. He loved how Dmitri would soak up any kind of praise like it was the highest possible honour. Admittedly, he would sometimes up his own dominant position or praise a little more vigorously than necessary, even if it was counter-productive to the goal of making Dmitri act as if they were equals. Strictly speaking, they weren’t, of course. Sasha could pull rank on any recruit and on many Croatoans too, with how long he’d been in service. But that was another matter.

And all that was without mentioning what happened in his head when he was stroking Dmitri through his pants to a post-fight orgasm. Something he enjoyed and that pissed him off. Ever since Dmitri’s admission that he wouldn’t let no one except Sasha touch him when he was in that state―Sasha felt an inexplicable urge to do just that. The amount of mixed emotions it caused was annoying. On one hand it was exhilarating and heady to make Dmitri fall apart with so little stimulation. To see his expression become open, vulnerable, adoring, and grateful. On the other hand it infuriated Sasha to see him display that level of weakness and vulnerability. _But_ at the same time pleased him immensely that he displayed that weakness and vulnerability for no one but Sasha himself. So Sasha got pleasure out of it too, but not necessarily sexual. Until recently that is.

Okay. So about seeing Dmitri as a sexually attractive individual. That was a tricky one. It wasn’t straightforward. _Not. at. all._ There was no denying that he got more aroused by watching Dmitri perform sexual actions to other persons than he did watching most other people do the same thing. But that was not the same thing as being attracted to the man himself. Speaking of watching. Sasha had noticed another thing about his young protege. While they both did have sex on a regular basis―Sasha took them to _Porodica_ owned whorehouses, where they didn’t have to pay, often enough―Dmitri did not chase after his own release. He never ever touched himself however hard he was, and only came a handful of times. He always did make his partner come though. Sasha ended up asking about it. “Hey if she wasn’t pleasing enough, you could just ask for another one.” “It’s not that. She just wasn’t worthy of the reward.” Which was an odd way to view one’s own orgasm―as a reward to one’s partner―and added another boon to bringing the man to his post-fight release. Sasha thinks Dmitri would suffer from a permanent case of self-imposed blue balls had he not gotten him off after jobs.

Anyway, Sasha always did like to watch the most. Ever since he was eleven and walked in on his sister getting fucked and hid to look. Dmitri seemed to have picked up on this lately and would stay within sight when they visited brothels or, rarely, brought women home. Sasha never fantasised about trading places with whoever he was watching, and rarely having the things done to him by someone else instead. That had started to slip lately. Maybe it had to do with the strong emotional bond that he had developed towards the young man? That had only happened twice before in his life, and only with women. But this was different. It drove Sasha mad that he couldn’t categorize what he was feeling and why.

So lately he had been aroused occasionally by Dmitri himself and nothing and no one else involved. Oddly enough it wasn’t fucking him in the kitchen that sealed the deal―(and that was a fuckup of huge proportions by itself). No. It was the kiss that did it. After the first time he kissed Goldilocks, something changed irreversibly.

* * *


	5. The first kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time Sasha kisses Cas.

* * *

Sasha was sitting on a stool by his bedside. Dmitri sat shirtless propped up against the wall on his bed, leaning his head over his shoulder to get a good look at what Sasha was doing. Their foreheads were almost touching as Sasha slowly and with great care carved at the half-healed “C” on his shoulder with a thin ultra sharp blade. He dug the knife in deep enough to ensure it would scar, but put all the artistry in it he could to ensure it would be a scar as graceful as it’s bearer. Not one of those jagged crude scars as most of them bore. He held a tissue underneath to prevent blood from trickling down the arm. When he was done he tilted his head up and met Dmitri’s eyes. He looked serene and relaxed. Sasha couldn’t tell where the impulse came from, but he leaned in tilting his head. Dmitri’s eyes widened minutely in surprise, then their lips met. _Soft, so soft._ Dmitri reciprocated the chaste kiss and Sasha closed his eyes, dragging his lips slowly over Dmitri’s at the same time as his pulse skyrocketed. 

He darted his tongue out and licked shyly at the seam of Dmitri’s lips, they parted willingly and Dmitri’s tongue tip met his, moving just as tenderly as he. It was the most intimate kiss he’d had in ten years time. Not since a brief romance with a girl named Verena in Belgium had he felt as close to anyone. He felt it in his whole body. It wasn’t fireworks going off, it was like sinking into a warm bath that was just the right temperature that you couldn’t feel the water and just felt like you were floating, detached from your body. It was like sunlight warming your skin through a window on a cold winter’s day. It was sweet and tender.

Sasha deepened the kiss and Dmitri let out a needy little whimper that made his heart flutter and his cock stir. When he broke the kiss Dmitri chased after his lips and then looked at him, eyes narrowing and pouting in what Sasha had come to call “the spoiled brat-look”. Sasha just watched him, trying to process what he’d just done, but the young man wasn’t going to settle for just one kiss. Dmitri dipped his finger in the blood leaking from the newly carved “C” and ran it over his lips like lipstick. By doing so he knowingly pushed one of Sasha’s buttons. In fact, it’s his biggest kink, one he never gets to indulge since he likes his partners willing and few are those that will stick around when they figure out _exactly_ how aroused blood makes him. He huffed out a breath and leaned in again, he flicked his tongue out and swiped it over Dmitri’s lower lip getting a pleased little sound as a reward. The coppery tang triggered hot want in Sasha and he kissed the young man properly, getting an equally passionate response. After a while he broke the kiss and moved to suck and lick at the bleeding “C”. He couldn’t say for how long, he was swept up in his rush. But he didn’t stop until it had stopped bleeding and by then they were both breathing raggedly. He went up to kiss Dmitri again, sweetly this time, lingering and chaste, to reel himself in.

Finally he broke the kiss and leaned their foreheads together while they calmed down. Then he straightened. He wondered if he looked as debauched and dazed as Dmitri. He certainly felt that way. Despite the fact that none of them had actually touched each other outside of what they did with their mouths. He took a steadying breath. “You should probably wash that with disinfectant,” he said.

Dmitri snorted in amusement.

”So, you wanna go out to eat or should we order in?” Sasha asked when no answer was forthcoming.

”I could cook for you?” Dmitri offered.

Sasha’s lips tugged upward in amusement. “No. You really can’t. The last time you cooked you served charcoal with glue. I still can’t figure out what it was you intended it to be.”

And on the surface, that was that. They ordered in and watched hockey on separate corners of the couch. On the inside Sasha had forever changed how he saw Dmitri. On top of that it became standard procedure for the carving ritual after that.

* * *


	6. Cheap gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas gives Sasha gifts continuously. Sasha gives Cas gifts too. Here's two of them...

* * *

Sasha drums his fingers restlessly on the steering wheel. This is the most boring part of their job. _Waiting._ This isn’t one of those long stakeouts. Not really. They’re waiting for a man to emerge from the building. He is carrying a bag with skimmed money that he will take to someone. The money is stolen from a _Porodica_ -run business and it’s their objective to find out who the man is delivering to and kill him and whoever awaits the delivery. But the man is taking his sweet time about coming out and Sasha is bored.

Dmitri digs inside his jacket and brings forth a bag of pistachios with shells that he hands to Sasha. “Here. I got this for you,” he says and looks at Sasha expectantly.

Sasha takes the bag. “Thank you. What did they cost?” He knows the upcoming answer but asks anyway, _because of it._

Dmitri shrugs disinterestedly. “I don’t know. I didn’t exactly ‘pass go’ with them so to speak,” he says making air-quotes.

The corners of Sasha’s lips tugs upward in amusement. “Very good, Goldilocks,” he purrs and watches the younger man preen. Dmitri goes back to watching the building contentedly and Sasha is no longer bored as shelling and eating the pistachios provide sufficient distraction to pass time.

* * *

Sasha comes home from a solo recon mission on a carnival. He quickly hides one of the things he is carrying and then goes to find Dmitri. The young man is sprawled over the couch watching some comedy series on TV. “Hey Princess. I’ve got something for you.”

Dmitri perks up and peeks up over the back of the couch, his hair all messy standing out like a dark gold halo around his head. Sasha holds out cotton candy on a glowstick towards him. Dmitri’s eyes go all round and he makes a strange trilling noise of excitement as he takes it. _I swear to God, sometimes, it’s like he is stuck at the mental age of five!_ Sasha’s lips tug in fond amusement.

Dmitri blinks at the glowing candy for a while and then bounces out of the couch and quickly turns off the lights in the apartment before settling back in the couch watching the rainbow glow of the candy with a big grin. Sasha takes off his jacket and shoes and settles in the other corner of the couch, watching Dmitri. 

"I always wanted to try angel food," Dmitri says wistfully without taking his eyes off the glowing candy. 

"Angel food?"

"Clouds on a stick," Dmitri clarifies. 

Sasha chuckles at the idea of angels munching on clouds. “You never had cotton candy before?"

Dmitri shakes his head. He looks at the candy for a while longer before he takes a big fluffy pinch of it and puts it in his mouth. The squinty look of immense concentration on his face makes Sasha burst out laughing. Dmitri looks either as a scientist figuring out advanced chemical calculations or a gourmet connoisseur tasting something new in the latest five star restaurant. The young man is totally unbothered by Sasha’s mirth. A smile spreads slowly on his lips and he nods to himself. “It _is_ angel food,” he declares like it is an indisputable fact.

”Dmitri, it’s just sugar,” Sasha says with an amused grin.

Dmitri gives him an impatient you’re-totally-stupid-for-not-getting-this glare. “Well then, that’s what angels eat,” he states matter of factly.

”Sugar?” 

”Yes.” Dmitri nods sagely and takes another piece of fluff and puts it in his mouth.

”Whatever you say, Goldilocks.”

Later the glowstick ended up in Dmitri’s room, functioning as a nightlight until the batteries ran out…

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Cotton candy on a glowstick.](http://www.glowsource.com/assets/images/glo_cone_1.jpg)


	7. Expensive Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two expensive gifts are exchanged. 
> 
> Cas' gift is given a few weeks before he leaves. Sasha's gift is given a couple of days after the attack on the apartment.

* * *

Cas is a bit nervous about this. He had it custom made. It’s an expensive gift. (Or would have been if he had paid for it instead of pulling a con. But still…) He had wrapped the box in shiny gift paper. Then unwrapped it. The wrapped the box in old newspaper. And unwrapped it again. Finally he settles on giving it in the box without the wrapping. He considers exchanging the box it came in for a more plain box that won’t give away how precious this gift really is. There is a chance Sasha will hate it and that makes his insides churn. Sasha won’t even know what it is he is trying to give him, by proxy, since he can never explain. 

It takes him two whole days to work up the courage to give it. During that time he carries it on his person all the time and sleeps with it under his pillow. He sometimes considers throwing it away. But he doesn’t. 

They’re about to go to bed after a long shitty day of hard work and mishaps when Cas finally does it. Sasha is on his way into his bedroom when Cas speaks up. “Wait, Sash, I got you something.”

Sasha turns around, he looks dead tired, but curious. Cas keeps his face devoid of feelings when he walks up to his and takes forth the marine-coloured flat box he’s been keeping in the hem of his jeans at his back. It shows signs of wear at the corners. Sasha opens the lid of the box and blinks. Cas can’t interpret his expression and thinks maybe he shouldn’t have done this.

”It-it’s the angel of Thursday.” _Great. Stammering like a fool._ “He holds a special meaning to me,” Cas explains when Sasha looks up. Cas hopes the older man never finds out exactly how special and in what way. 

Sasha looks down again on the necklace resting on the black velvet inside the box. The white gold chain is sturdy enough not to break easily but not thick enough to look tacky. The pendant is a stylized sterling silver angel, looking vaguely like a knight―sword and all―with wings made of black tungsten kept close to it’s body. He touches it gently. “It’s beautiful. Thank you,” he says and gives Cas a soft smile before taking the necklace out of the box and hanging it around his neck.

Cas nods and turns on his heel, heading towards his room, afraid he won’t be able to keep a straight face if he remains.

Cas never again sees Sasha without the necklace on.

* * *

* * *

”Hold out your hand… no, the other one.” Cas follows order and holds out his hand. Sasha fastens a watch on his hand. “I bought this for you. A thank you for being on time, so to speak, to save my life when our apartment was attacked,” he says and steps away to let Cas look.

Cas breath hitches when he sees the thick watch on his arm. It’s a Jaeger LeCoultre Gyrotourbillon, a true, and complex, work of art. And _expensive_. It makes him think of time lords. “Y-you _bought_ it?” Cas stutters and can’t help casting a confused look around the simple apartment.

Sasha chuckles, catching on to the source of Cas’ confusion. “We move around a lot in this job. I have simple needs. That doesn’t mean I have not been aptly compensated for all my work.”

”Thank you. It’s magnificent,” Cas says earnestly.

* * *

When Cas arrives to Angel Falls almost seven years later that watch along with a photo of Meg are the only truly personal keepsakes he has held on to…

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Jaeger LeCoultre Gyrotourbillon](https://www.google.se/search?q=Jaeger+LeCoultre+Gyrotourbillon&safe=off&espv=2&biw=1920&bih=993&tbm=isch&tbo=u&source=univ&sa=X&ei=GFnBVPnFMYOCzAPh4IC4Bg&ved=0CB8QsAQ) \- I’m not telling you which exact model. That you need to decide for yourself. :)


	8. Aftermath part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha does not take his own actions very well...

* * *

Sasha steps into the shower and turns the water on. The water is too hot but he doesn’t care. He takes the soap and looks down. There’s blood on his cock, only a little, but his mind immediately provides the image of why.

_Dmitri’s back arches upward towards his chest, his head bowing down, squeezing his eyes shut and digging teeth deep into Sasha’s forearm to keep from screaming. But Sasha can still hear it despite Dmitri trying to muffle the sound. Then, muffled dry sobs. Sweat quickly slicking up the skin on Dmitri’s back. The young man’s plight almost jars Sasha out of his angry haze and_ almost _makes him lose his erection. One part of his brain screaming_ ”YES!” _and another part screaming_ “NOO!” _But Dmitri’s hand squeezes tight on the knife he is holding and it digs a gash into his shoulder, blood comes pouring out and the sight of it works like lighter fluid for the fire in Sasha. The knife clatter to the counter. ”Come on, Sasha,_ move _!” Dmitri grits out…_

Sasha puts the soap back and steps out of the shower, rushing to the toilet and dry heaves as guilt hits him full force. He doesn’t have anything to throw up, but his body tries anyway. He remains kneeling over the toilet a while longer after he has stopped heaving bile. _What have I done?!_ He feels utterly disgusted by himself. _How could I hurt him like that?!_ And Dmitri had just taken it. Like Sasha was in his full right to take him by force like that. He stopped fighting the moment he figured out what Sasha was up to and just spread his legs and braced himself. Who does that?

After drinking some water to wash out his mouth he gets back in the hot shower now steaming up the bathroom. He takes the soap and starts washing himself. He knows he’s not a good person. He kills people for a living. He steals, spies, drugs people without their consent. But _rape_? Even he has his limits to what he is willing to do. He could never work the trafficking gigs due to that. He only went to the finer whorehouses because there the girls worked for incentive and not due to coercion. 

Sasha scrubbed himself harder and more insistently trying to get the dirty feeling off of him. Nowhere in his jumbled thought process was he bothered by the fact that Dmitri was a guy. Despite the fact that it was the first time he’d had sex with a guy and despite the fact that this was the first time he’d been attracted to a guy that way. It’s the part about forcing himself on Dmitri that has him scrubbing himself so raw he nearly takes the skin off. It’s the part about how incredibly good it felt to be balls deep inside that tight wet heat that was Dmitri. How turned on he was by just watching the blood flow from Dmitri’s shoulder while fucking him.

Paired with the guilt is the shame for taking pleasure. Because he did. When Dmitri flicked his tongue out in a gesture encouraging Sasha to lick at the wound… He could have blown his load by the wave of arousal that hit him. And once he had his mouth on the blood soaked skin, fingers intertwined with Dmitri’s, and the younger man urging him on. Then there was no hesitance. It was only here and now and pleasure. He is so ashamed of that right now. And all because of what? Because Dmitri issued a challenge yesterday and Sasha worked up an angry haze that clouded his mind during the sleepless night. Because he was experiencing mixed emotions about having Dmitri’s flexible preferences shoved in his face. That did not give him the right to fucking _claim_ the man he cared so deeply about like he was some kind of fucking possession! That’s not the man he wanted to be!

_”Was that a reward or a punishment?”_ The question had brought him back like bucket of ice water. The only good thing about it was that Dmitri had threatened murder if he didn’t hold him afterwards and that had temporarily pushed aside the guilt and shame and let him enjoy the afterglow. _How could he be so cool about it? I certainly wasn’t!_ Dmitri was truly beautiful at that point. Sweat making his blond locks dark and curly, cocky smirk adorning his face and full of sassy humour. _Why?_ It was rape. Dmitri didn’t treat it like that. He’d seemed… _I don’t know? Content?_ But that couldn’t be.

There was a clump in Sasha’s throat and his eyes hurt and it was hard to breathe. Sasha belatedly realizes he is crying, and has been for a while. How long ago was it since he last cried? He doesn’t know. Years. He sinks down, back against the cold tile, in a corner of the shower booth, curls himself into a ball, and gives into his tears. Letting the guilt, shame, and remorse wash over him in waves until he is all cried out and all that remains is emptiness and numbness. He can’t motivate himself to get up, he feels too tired.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting there when he hears the bathroom door open and a rush of cold air hits him, dispelling some of the hot fog that has built up in the bathroom. Then Dmitri steps into the shower _with_ him. Like that is the natural thing to do. He has dried come flecked with rust colour down the length of one of his legs. He tries to hide that he’s in pain but Sasha can still see it. It’s easy after all the times Sasha has seen him get high. Everytime he is high his usual micro-expressions blossoms slowly to reveal how he looks when he isn’t in control of them.

Aside from a look Dmitri doesn’t pay attention to him or question why he is sitting in the corner with his head tucked between his legs hugging himself. One part of Sasha is grateful. Another part wishes he _would_ question it. That he would be angry. Call Sasha out for what he did. But no. The little shithead, apart from showing signs of pain, radiates domestic contentment. It should be a comfort, and to some degree it is. And it’s not like Dmitri couldn’t have fought him harder. _Why didn’t he?_ Sasha remains sitting on the floor wallowing in guilt for at least an hour after Dmitri leaves the bathroom.

* * *

They don’t talk about it afterwards, apart from Sasha supplying Dmitri with a little stronger painkillers than is strictly necessary. Halfway into the second movie they watch later that night―a release from last year, _Crank_ , because Dmitri has a thing for Jason Statham apparently―Dmitri suddenly reaches out and strokes the back of Sasha’s hand. Sasha’s gaze immediately jumps to Dmitri and is met by a look of total admiration and affection. It’s just a couple of seconds then Dmitri withdraws his hand and turns his attention back to the TV. Sasha feels warmed and confused by it.

* * *


	9. Aftermath part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha comes home to find a fire truck outside the apartment.

* * *

2008

Sasha’s heart start racing the moment he spots the fire truck outside the apartment. One look upward shows soot stains around the outside of his bedroom window and panic hits full force. So much for a lifetime of keeping his head calm in stressful situations. The panic equals that of what he felt seeing his first love, Monica, get hit by a car. Her death was what ultimately what drove him into the arms of the _Porodica_.

He’s not sure how he got up in the apartment. He’s pretty sure people tried to stop him. His bedroom is a burnt out shell with the remains of a body in the spot where his bed used to be. He is being pulled away from the body, but not before he can get a look at the unmistakable bullet hole in the head. He is shoved back into the livingroom where he sinks down to his knees, shocked and hollow. _No!_ This can’t be happening. He refuses to believe what he saw. The apartment smells heavily of toxic smoke but apart from the colour of the roof had boiled and charred just outside the bedroom door, the rest of the apartment remains intact. _Nononono!_ He can’t be dead. He can’t. _I refuse to believe it!_

Somebody is crouching down, talking to him. “Sir? You can’t be here. This is a crime scene.”

Sasha gives the officer a hollow look and without any discretion whatsoever tosses a coin with a carved “C” on it in front of him.

”Oh. I’ll get everybody out of here. Sorry to have bothered you, Sir.”

He is lucky. The chances that the officer was on their payroll was slim. The coin would have done it’s job anyway once it hit the evidence collection but now he is left alone. Dmitri is gone. He is dead. They spent yesterday night, he’d say humping like rabbits which they had done at first, but they fell asleep after making love. There’s no other word for it. And now he’s gone. Leaving Sasha in hollow despair. Dmitri’s few possessions still littering the apartment. The slingshot, the marbles, the pinwheel, his… _Wait a fucking minute!_

Sasha’s mouth goes dry and his heart starts thumping in his chest when he looks towards the hallway. Something is missing that shouldn't be missing if it is Dmitri's body lying burnt in his bed. He gets up and quickly makes his way to Dmitri’s room. The watch is gone. Just as the boots were. Those God damned boots Dmitri is so attached to. For a beat there’s nothing but relief. The dead body in his bedroom isn’t Dmitri. Then comes red hot rage with the acute sense of _betrayal_.

* * *


	10. Thursday's Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha is given a clue.

2009

 _Ugh. The things he has to put up with. Incense. The_ Бог брат _sent him to buy fucking incense!_ It’s not like he had anything better to do. He is currently back in America and working for one of the older brothers who held ordinary fucking bore-me-to-death business meetings. Part of him was glad for the temporary escape from his bodyguard duties. _But incense?_

The store reeks of it. There’s angels, and Buddahs, and all sorts of crystals all over the place. He heads straight for the counter and the elderly longhaired woman with too much jewelry and fringed shawls smiles at him. He takes out the empty package he’s carrying and holds it out to her. “Hi. I need more of this. You got it?” he says and tries not to look impatient. The clash of scents in this store is overwhelming. He stretches his lips into a polite smile.

”Of course, young man!” The lady smiles broadly at him. “Just wait here and I’ll get it for you.”

Sasha’s lips tug in amusement when she walks off to fetch the requested incense for him. It’s been a long time since anyone called him “young man”. He knows his looks makes it hard to decipher his age. People guess anything between 30 and 50. His hair started turning gray when he was 20 and was completely silver when he was 27. But last week he turned 44 so he’d hardly consider himself a young man. To pass time while he waits he leans forward and looks at the silver jewelry inside the glass counter. Large cheap rings with eagles, angels, skulls, wolves, dragons and whatnot. His own necklace falls out of his shirt to dangle below his chin. He doesn’t really notice. He hasn’t taken it off since he got it two years ago.

The old woman comes back with his item. “Well that’s a pretty necklace, dear,” she says. “I don’t think I’ve seen one quite like it.” She smiles warmly at him.

He can’t help but return the smile and fingers the angel around his neck. “Thanks. Someone who used to mean a lot to me gave it to me. It’s the angel of Thursday,” he indulges her. As always when thinking of Dmitri there’s a pang of sorrow and anger. But he doesn’t think of him as much any more. Except for some deep down reflex to scan any group of people for the familiar silhouette. Dmitri remains unfound still.

”Castiel.”

”I’m sorry, what?”

”The name of Thursday’s angel is Castiel, dear,” the woman says.

”I didn’t know that. Thanks for telling me,” he says politely. Briefly he wonders if it’s significant, but then stuffs the knowledge in the back of his mind. It probably isn’t.


	11. The name is Castiel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha finds Cas.

* * *

2010

He’s at a pub in Helsinki, nursing a beer by the bar. His mark is also sitting by the bar watching some friendly game between some division 2(?) hockey teams, one from Sweden and one from Finland. It’s a moderately entertaining game. The mark is supposed to be taken out at exactly 23:14 and is to be filmed when it happens. All Sasha needs to do until then is wait. Watching sports is always a good way of passing time.

He’s about to leave his seat for a brief visit to the men’s room when the Swedish team scores a goal and the commentator says something that piques Sasha’s attention and makes him look back at the screen.

_”...That’s a spectacular goal by Castiel ‘Cazzer’ Collins! Would you look at that! He came from nowhere and in just a few months…”_

It’s the name “Castiel” that made him look. Sasha’s heart beats faster when the camera zooms in on Castiel taking off his helmet as he enters the booth to drink and rest. His face is flushed and short dark hair sticks sweatily to his forehead, but there’s no doubt. It’s him. _It’s him!_ The long gold tinted locks are gone but it’s still him. Sasha feels elated and unconsciously fingers the necklace, a habit he has picked up that has become ingrained in who he is during the years since he got it.

He digs out his phone and makes a phone call when the camera turns back at the game at hand. “Hi, it’s Aleksandr. I need you to do something for me…. Yes. ...Mhm. ...I need all the information you can get on Castiel ‘Cazzer’ Collins who plays left wing forward in the Swedish hockey team Leksand… When do I need it? Preferably three and a half years ago. ...Yes. Great. Thank you.” As soon as he finishes that conversation he dials another number. “Hi Daniel, it’s Sasha. You’re still in Sweden, right?... Great. I need eyes and ears on a hockey player in Leksand, his name is Castiel Collins. ...Yes. I’ll be coming over as soon as my obligations at this post is done. ...Alright, thanks.”

* * *

A few hours later he’s in his hotel room. His first call has already resulted in a draft of information waiting in his email inbox. He pours himself some whiskey and sits down to read it through. While his eyes scans the written lines he fingers the angel around his neck absentmindedly, drags it back and forth in the seam of his closed lips. There’s a copy of a birth certificate for James Castiel Collins. Mother, Naomi Collins. He moved from his birth town in America when he was four and his name was changed to Novak like his father. He was put on skates basically from birth according to the information, had an illustrious youth career as a figure skater, shooting straight for the Olympics, under the name “Jimmy Novak”. There’s a few pictures and links to Youtube videos included. Then his father and partner died in rapid succession and Castiel dropped from the face of the earth. Five, almost six, years later he resurfaced as a hockey player in Sweden with his birth name. Another set of pictures and videos included. He only has one living relative, a sister. Anna Collins was 18 years old and still living in Angel Falls…

Angel Falls… the name sounds familiar. It takes him the good part of a minute to remember why. When he does he utters “huh,” out loud to himself. The two hockey playing Sin-Božji brothers are currently living there. It’s a funny coincidence considering how he found Dmitri. No, _Castiel_. The young man had practically given him a dog tag with his real name and Sasha had been carrying it around his neck all this time. _But why?_

* * *

* * *

Two months later Sasha is staring down the sniperscope from his hiding place. He’s in Sweden and the barrel of his rifle is aimed at Castiel’s chest as the young man, unaware of the danger, is feeding birds.He needs to be punished. You don’t double cross the _Porodica_ , and you don’t leave once you’ve been initiated. Sasha strokes the trigger gently, gently. But he can’t make himself squeeze it and blow the man out of existence. The chain around his neck seems to weigh tons. At long last he puts down the sniper rifle, runs a hand through his hair in frustration and huffs. There is a loophole in this. There has to be. He gets an idea. After all, the _Porodica_ goes after the family of traitors too.

* * *

* * *

2011

”It is done. Dmitri Krushnic is dead. I shot him,” Sasha says into the burn phone, looking down on the corpse of a man named Dmitri Krushnic in a shabby apartment back in Russia. As soon as he hangs up he calls another number.

” _Michael Filiusdei speaking._ ”

”Hello, this is Aleksandr Chaadayev.”

” _Aleksandr! Long time no see. How’s my favourite croat these days_?”

Sasha huffs. He might have helped teaching the guy how to shoot, but he doesn’t buy into that ‘favourite’ part. “I’m fine Sir. I was wondering if I could ask for a boon. I need to come to Angel Falls due to personal reasons for possibly an extended period of time. I’d like if I could be officially stationed there during that time?”

*chuckles* ” _Is this about a girl_?”

That’s a way to see it. “Yes, Sir. It is.”

” _Well then Aleksandr, I’ll make it happen. There’s no heavy duty jobs here so you’ll have plenty of time to spend with that girl of yours._ ”

”Thank you, Sir.”

” _No problem. I’ll see you in a couple of days._ ”

Sasha smirks to himself when he hangs up. In a few days he’d be getting to know Anna Collins…

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. That's the last chapter of the timestamps for a while. I'm working on the next chapter in the main fic and that takes precedence.


	12. Introduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha has come to Angel Falls to take care of Anna. He is biding his time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings for this chapter:**  
>  None.
> 
> **Notes:**  
>  My muse has decided that I have to be writing about Sasha and his hidden influence on the lives of our four heroes from Volatile Chemistry. I have several chapters ready, just not in order and for the duration of the period Sasha is in Angel Falls it serves the story best to publish them in order as they happen. So chapters will be added as soon as I get the chapters binding stuff together done.

* * *

**2011**

* * *

Early February

Sasha sits in his silver sedan rental and studies Castiel’s sister from a distance. She is 19 years old and quite beautiful, but there’s a perpetual sadness to her. Life had not been kind to her. Her father left with her brother before she was born, her mother died when she was 10 and she ended up in foster care. The foster parents were strict and distant and they didn’t get along with her very well. She moved back to the house she’d inherited from her mother as soon as she turned 18. Sasha had been here for a couple of weeks already. He’d installed bugs and surveillance in the house and bugged her car. He had one of the _Porodica_ computer specialists hack her computer so he could access it whenever he pleased. He is taking his time to get to know her without her knowing. He was in no hurry to end her. Being stationed in twin towns is practically a vacation. Free season ticket to watch any Angels home games, a nice house Michael had acquired for him, a few easy jobs on the right side of entertaining, and loads of free time to do whatever he pleased.

He drags his angel pendant back and forth in the seam of his closed lips as he watches Anna on the school yard talking with a few of her friends and her boyfriend. This semester will be her last, but there’s no college in sight for her. The treatment of her mother’s cancer was costly and had consumed all of what should have been Anna’s college fund and inheritance. Not that it had done them any good as she died in the end anyway. He watches a few more minutes and starts the car. Soon it’s time to introduce himself.

* * *

Anna hurries out of the store laden with paper grocery bags. Jake is coming over later and she is running late. She rounds a corner in a rush and collides with a broad chest, dropping two bags and nearly falling over backwards on the icy pavement if it wasn’t for firm hands capturing and steadying her. “Dammit!” she curses when she hears glass shatter on the ground and sees fruit and vegetables roll away out on the parking lot. 

”I’m terribly sorry miss, I didn’t see you coming.”

Anna looks up to the face of the solid man-wall she collided with and _Woah_ hello there Richard Gere-y stranger! Heat rushes to her face. “No,no. I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going and was in a hurry and um…” she flusters but fall quiet when an amused smile splits the man’s face, revealing a set of unfairly white teeth. She becomes aware how close they are and that he is still holding on to her upper arms. He lets her go when she takes a step back but another ice patch makes her almost fall again and he instantly catches her. Another grocery bag falls to the ground, spilling it’s content on the ground. “Oh no!”

”Don’t worry miss. I’ll help you with that,” the stranger says and lets her go. He stoops down and starts collecting her groceries, putting them back in her bags. Anna shifts on her feet. She can’t get down and help him because then she has to put down the other bags and since they are made of paper they might get destroyed by the wet snow. Stupid environmental thinking. The stranger seems to sense her dilemma and looks up. “You got a car?”

”Y-yeah. Sir, you don’t have to do that… I can…”

”It’s not a problem. Go leave the rest of your groceries in the car and I’ll take care of this for you. Two of these bags are ruined. I’ll go into the store and get you new ones, okay?” he says with a smile, stands up and hands her one bag that he did manage to salvage. 

He is tall, broad shouldered, and handsome. (And as the collision proved―fucking _solid_!) Wearing a pair of expensive aviators and a black leather jacket. His hair is grey, darker at the top and light silver at the temples, but he doesn’t look very old. Late thirties maybe? Anna has never seen him before. “Okay, um, thanks,” she says grateful and embarrassed. _Come on_! Stop making a fool of yourself! He’s gonna think you’re a stupid little girl if you keep this up.

Anna gives the man an uncertain smile and hurries towards her car before she can make a bigger fool of herself. 

* * *

She is almost finished loading the car when she hears footsteps behind her and turns around. The stranger comes walking towards her with two of those reusable fabric bags loaded with her groceries. He smiles when he sees her notice him, stop and holds the bags out to her. “The eggs, pasta sauce, and some of the fruits were unsalvageable so I took the liberty of buying you new ones. After all, it was my fault you dropped them.”

”Thank you. I can repay you. I c―” Anna says as she takes the bags from his hands.

”No need, helping a beautiful young lady in distress is payment enough,” he says with a broad smile. “Have a good day miss.” And just like that, with a little salute he turns and walks away. Anna’s cheeks are burning and there’s a flutter of happiness in her chest. She is grateful towards the good looking, helpful stranger. The fact that he just walked away after doing this and telling her she was beautiful makes it worth more somehow. That he didn’t want anything in return or presumed something feels good. It gives her back a little faith in humanity. There are good people out there. She is smiling all the way home.

* * *

Sasha is pleased with how the first introduction went. He hasn’t decided how he is going to kill her yet, he just knows he wants it to be as personal as possible. He is going to win her trust and let her tell him the answer to that. It has to be painful enough to befit a punishment from the _Porodica_. Anna is going to pay her brother’s debt and Sasha’s princess―Castiel―will be cleared, free to live his new life without a constant threat hanging over him. Sasha touches the pendant around his neck briefly, ignoring the pang of loss and hurt by the betrayal that thoughts of Castiel incites. Normally, family and loved one’s were killed first. Then the person who had angered the _Porodica_. Anna was the only living family Castiel had. Sasha doubted the young madman who had nestled himself into his heart cared about his sister’s faith. He hoped not. But the most important thing at the end of the day was that once the punishment was dealt―Sasha’s princess was safe and he still would have gotten revenge for his personal loss.

* * *


	13. Talking to the dead and dreaming of the living

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha is in Angel Falls to take care of Anna. He starts working on his plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings for this chapter:**  
>  None.

* * *

**2011**

* * *

Late February

Sasha watches Anna park her car and trudge uphill on the graveyard. Like clockwork every Sunday she comes to visit her mother’s grave. She stays about thirty minutes, talking to the gravestone. Sasha doesn’t get it. Even if there is some kind of afterlife, he very much doubts that the dead would linger by their graves. No matter. The moment she disappears over the crest he moves. He walks to her car, looks around, then pops her hood, disconnects a couple of cables. Closing the hood he walks back to his own car and waits. 

* * *

Today is cold as hell and Anna is cutting her visit to the grave short. Every time there’s a gale of wind she thinks her face is going to just freeze and fall straight off her head. There’s hardly any snow left out, just frost and ice patches. But the wind drains warmth from her body fast. Her attempt to keep it out with jacket, scarves and shirts is laughable. She can hardly feel her legs through the jeans. She trudges back to the car and gets in, rubbing her hands together to regain feeling in her fingers. Then she turns the ignition. Nothing happens. “No no no. Don’t do this to me now!” Again and again she turns the key, but the car won’t even make a sputter. “Fuck!” _Great. Just great. Like I didn’t have enough on my plate already?_ She can’t afford to take the car to be repaired. Money is scarce enough as it is. The house is falling to pieces, and she is struggling to get her grades in order this last semester while keeping one minimum wage job as a waitress, depending largely on tips to keep her afloat. If the car should give up now…?

She gets out of the car and pops the hood. In drivers ed they had to take tests about how the engine works but staring down on it she realises with a sinking feeling that she doesn’t remember shit about that. “Godammit!” She perks up when she hears a car coming down the road and she steps out in the street waving at it. The silver sedan stops by her side and the driver gets out. “You need help, miss?”

 _It’s him! The stranger from the parking lot!_ A little flutter of nervous excitement settles in Anna’s stomach when she sees him. “Um yeah. My car won’t start and I don’t know why. It worked just fine when I drove here. I don’t know how to fix it.”

The stranger smiles. “Alright, miss. I’m no expert but let me take a look.” He is wearing clothes befitting of the cold today. A warm expensive black winter jacket, a knitted polo, grey washed out jeans and a knitted cap. It looks good. _He_ looks good. _Come on. Stop drooling! He is twice your age!_

”Thanks,” Anna says trying to ignore the heat rising on her cheeks. 

The man leans over her engine, resting one arm on the edge of the open hood above his head. “I think I can fix this. Why don’t you go sit in the car and turn the ignition when I tell you to,” he says after surveying the engine.

”Okay,” Anna says and does what she is told. 

She can’t see him from the driver’s seat but it doesn’t take long before he calls out. “Okay. I think I’ve got it. Try now.” Anna turns the key and the car comes to life. Relief floods her. She grins broadly when the man closes the hood and comes around to the open driver’s door and lean down to talk to her. “Everything should be in order now, miss. It was just a cable that was a bit loose.”

”Thanks! You’re an angel. Is there anything I can do to repay you?”

An amused smile spreads on the man’s lips and he looks down on the ground, then he peeks up from under his lashes ( _Holy shit. Those are some Bambi-length lashes!_ ) with a twinkle in his eyes. “Now, now, miss. I thought we went through this the last time we met,” he chastises playfully. “No payment necessary. I’m just glad to be of help.” He straightens and pats the roof of the car twice. “You have a good day, miss,” he says then turns to get back to his car.

Anna’s hand shoots out to grab his sleeve before she can stop herself and he turns to look at her with a surprised expression. “Please. This is the second time you’ve helped me. It’d make me feel better if there was anything I could do for you,” she says with a grateful and pleading expression. Anna wants to slap herself. She sounds like she is starring in a bad porno or something and that is so _not_ what she meant. She lets go of his sleeve and fidgets nervously, wondering what the hell she is doing.

He looks at her with a concerned expression, then at his car, then back at her. “I tell you what,” he says slowly. “I’ve got to go to work in an hour. There’s a gas station down the road. How about you buy me a cup of coffee over there and we’ll be even?”

Anna hesitates, wondering if he mistook her intentions. 

Anna’s sudden reluctance seems to put the man at ease. He smiles softly. “You don’t owe me anything miss. I’m new to this town and don’t know anyone here. It’d be nice talking to someone outside my job for a moment, that’s all.”

Anna relaxes and smiles. “Oh. Yeah, no. I’d love to buy you a coffee then. Totally.” _Dammit, stop being so flustered! It’s just a cup of coffee with a nice guy. You can do this without making a total fool of yourself!_

The stranger’s eyes twinkle with amusement and his lips twitch like he he is withholding a grin, probably due to her floundering. “Great. See you down there then,” he says and turns to walk to his car. Anna sees him shake his head to himself and when he gets in the car she catches a glimpse of his face, grinning broadly with downcast eyes. It makes her think that maybe he finds her awkwardness endearing. Either that or that he thinks she’s a total loser. She hopes it’s the first option.

They drive down to the gas station and she buys two cups of coffee. They sit by the window where there’s a cluster of small round tables with bar stools where truckers come in to grab a hotdog or a coffee. She looks over at the stranger as he removes his jacket and cap and she has _no idea_ what to say. To protect her from awkward silence she drinks her coffee, burning her tongue but tries not to show it. The man runs his hand through his hair and looks at her. He seems relaxed at least. Confident. She wishes she could appear as confident. She grasps for a topic but doesn’t find any and fiddles nervously with her paper cup.

”So who were you visiting at the graveyard?” the man asks.

”My mother,” Anna answers, grateful to let him take the lead in the conversation.

His face turns sympathetic. “Oh. My condolences. Was it recent?”

Anna smiles sadly. “No. She died when I was ten. But I still come to talk with her.”

”Were you close?” he asks and takes a sip of his coffee.

”Not really. In a way we’re closer now than when she was alive. I just like to feel like I have someone to talk to that would be there for me. So I pretend she listens to me like she would if she was alive. It’s stupid, I know.”

”Not stupid. Sometimes we don’t realise how much people mean to us until they’re gone. I’ve lost people too that I wish I could talk to. But I can’t stand graveyards. Reminds me too much of death. I was in the military when I was younger. Saw way too much death and violence. If I never have to see a dead body for the rest of my life I’ll be happy.” The man squirms and looks down on his cup in discomfort. “I’m sorry. This may be a unsavory topic for you. I don’t wish to make you uncomfortable.”

”No it’s okay,” Anna assures him. “In fact, I spend a lot of time thinking about death and dying since mom passed away. My friends don’t like me talking about. And any time I mention mum they get weirded out, like they don’t know what to say.”

”That’s natural. Having close ones die makes you a pariah of a sorts. There’s nothing people can say except platitudes so they don’t want you to mention it.”

”Exactly!”

”How did she die?”

”She was diagnosed with cancer when I was eight. I remember thinking that maybe it was my fault, because I’m born the 20th of July and that makes me a cancer, zodiac wise.” The man’s lips twitch in amusement at that but he is looking at Anna with sympathetic eyes and really appears to be listening. “She underwent treatment but the cancer just kept coming back and spreading, refusing to yield. She just faded away, was in so much pain. It took two years for her to die. And when she did they wouldn’t let me see her. She died all alone in a hospital bed. That’s my biggest fear. That I will get cancer and die all alone just like her,” Anna admits and takes a sip of her coffee again.

”That’s not extremely likely to happen, now is it?”

”You never know. Sometimes cancer runs in the family. They don’t really know what causes it, you know?”

The man shrugs and bows his head, conceding to the point. “Yes, but you won’t be alone. How about your boyfriend?”

”I don’t have a boyfriend.” The words are out of her mouth before she can stop herself and she feels like slapping a hand over her mouth to cover up the lie.

The man looks surprised. “Girlfriend?” he hazards. Anna shakes her head, heat rising to her cheeks as he looks at her in a way she can’t decipher. Then he looks down on his coffee cup, spinning it around between his fingers with the barest hint of a smile.

”What?” Anna asks with an uncertain smile.

”Nothing,” the man answers looking up, “I’m just surprised. That’s all.” His smile is almost shy and he looks down on his cup again. A burst of tiny internal butterflies ties Anna’s tongue in the silence that follows. She blushes at the implied compliment. The silence is just beginning to get awkward when the man runs a hand through his hair again and speaks up. “So where was your father through all this?”

”He left before I was born. Took my brother and walked out. He died a couple of years ago and my brother disappeared. I’ve never met either of them.” Anna is grateful for the subject change.

”You never wanted to seek them out?”

”Well yeah. But my foster parents I was placed with after mom’s death wouldn’t let me. I always wanted to get to know my brother. He was a figure skater, just like mom and dad. Mom and me used to watch him skate on TV. They, dad and my brother, lived in Europe so we had satellite just so we could watch. And once I was placed with my foster parents I used to watch over internet in secret. I think of him often, wondering what it would be like to have a brother for real. What he is like and what he is doing now. But like I said, he disappeared. The media speculated that he was dead but I don’t think so. I think he just left to find a new life. Believe me, living in a house of the dead isn’t easy. Memories can be haunting. So I get why he’d just go once he was alone.” Anna wonders why she is telling the man this. She never talks about this with anyone. But the stranger is really listening, seeming genuinely interested. And somehow it’s easier to talk to a complete stranger about this than it is to talk with her friends.

”Why did your dad leave?”

”Mom told me that the two of them were really good back in the days. They competed internationally and were set to participate in the Olympics when dad got injured just days before the Olympics began. He never recovered enough to compete again. So when my brother was born he was obsessed with the thought of making him do what dad never could. Dad put skates on him before he could even walk. And he raised my brother real strict. Even from the age of a babe everything was focussed on making him a skating star. Mom and dad used to argue about this. Mom thought it would harm my brother’s psyche to be driven so hard and not get to be a child. Then when they found out mom was pregnant with a girl dad wanted us to be partners on the ice. He started planning how they would train me too and mom demanded a divorce. Her daughter was going to be allowed to be a child, she said. So my brother got to pay the price for me to be a kid so to speak, because dad took him with him when he left.”

”Do you think he was damaged? By his upbringing, I mean.”

”I suppose that kind of life mom told me he was likely to live would mess up anybody. I don’t know, he looked content on TV but mom said you have to smile for the cameras when you compete like that. Still I always imagine him to be something special, you know? No matter how father treated him. He had something about him that translated through the cameras. He wasn’t just good at what he did, he had _it_.”

The man is looking at Anna with the strangest expression. He is smiling wistfully. “I think you’re right. I think he must be something special. I bet that kind of upbringing just made him one in a million.” He looks down on his coffee cup, looking embarrassed. “I’m sorry. It’s not my place to make up theories about what your brother is like.”

Anna giggles and puts a hand on his arm. “No please do. I tried to talk about my brother with my best friend Lottie, about what he would be like. But she just urged me to try to find him instead of daydream about it. I don’t think I’ll ever find him so I like to have my dream image of him. Why don’t you make up a theory about him?” The man laughs and looks at her strangely. Anna blushes self-consciously but smiles. “I know it’s silly, but humour me,” she urges.

The man pulls down the corners of his lips in an amused facial shrug and takes a drink of his coffee while contemplating. “Alright. I think your brother didn’t get to play enough when he was little so he left to seek adventure. He is curious about everything and loves toys. His weapon of choice is a slingshot rather than a gun.” Anna giggles at that and gets a smile in return. “He is very smart and courageous bordering on madness. But he is odd. He looks at the world like he understands the theory of it but isn’t sure how one is supposed to interact with it. He has strange little quirks…”

”What kind of quirks?” Anna asks, grinning now.

The man shrugs. “I don’t know? Maybe.. maybe he sniffs things. And tastes things. He needs to know how everything smells and tastes. He can find old candy that has been collecting dust for years and still he will sniff it and eat it. And even if he doesn’t like the taste he will eat all of it.”

Anna laughs. “Eeww! That’s gross.”

The man grins and shrugs. “I told you he is strange. But he is also generous. He will look at people and know what they need. Then he will do little things for them, give them gifts out of the blue, not being bothered by special dates like birthdays and such. You can never predict what he will do and that makes him stand out, makes you want to be around him just to know what he’ll do next. Oh. And he has a terrible temper in the morning.”

Anna throws her head back and laughs. “Oh my god, you have the best imagination! I like that. You make him sound like a real person. Thank you.”

”Imagining the living is more fun than talking to the dead,” he says and winks. “It’s been a real pleasure talking to you. But I have to go now or I’ll be late for work.” He stands up and takes his jacket and cap back on. “Take care and good luck with the car.”

”Yeah, you too. Bye.”

With a friendly wave the stranger goes and Anna grins broadly at his back. Not until he is gone does she realise she didn’t ask his name. But the conversation has her smiling for the rest of the day. She liked the over the top strange theory of what her brother is like. She wishes that one day she’ll get to meet him for real.

* * *

Sasha whistles on his drive home. That had gone smoothly. Plus, now he knew how Anna was going to die. As soon as he is home he goes down in the basement where he has set up all the surveillance monitors and keeps the rest of his documentation for this project. He sits down in the office chair and puts his feet up on the desk, then dials a number. “Hi Douglas, this is Aleksandr Chaadayev. ...Yes, that’s right. ...No. ...Of course… I was wondering if you could help me out, it’s concerning a retributional job. ...Yes. ...I need something that will cause cancer…” Sasha describes exactly what he has in mind. Doug is another one of the Божја браћа. He and Sasha developed a special rapport when Sasha was teaching at the Heart. Doug was often referred to as a mad scientist, and he had bonded with the boy when he taught him about drugs. While Sasha was fascinated of how you could influence the psyche, Doug had grown up to specialize in viruses and poisons and other ways to influence the body. The closeness of their two favourite subjects had made them develope something dangerously close to friendship. Doug would call sometimes and ask his opinion on things concerning how to influence the mind, old student to teacher. Now Doug jumped at the chance to supply Sasha with what he needed.

This was the biggest perk of being one of the few Croatoans who had been stationed at the Heart. He had gotten to know the Божја браћа when they were boys and due to that was both known by name and fairly well respected by many of them. Some of the boys had even earned a real place in Sasha’s heart. Those were the ones who had the hardest time adjusting to the idea that they were only allowed to feel strong emotional affection for family members. Leonard, Douglas, Brandon, Matthew, Lucifer, Tyler, and Michael. All of them had a spark of humanity in them that refused to be extinguished no matter how much _Otac_ tried. Leo had paid with his life for that spark. Lucifer had chosen to exile himself for it. Doug too in a way as he hid away in his laboratory. Of course, some of the boys had grown up to become such horrid assholes Sasha had a hard time stomaching them, which says a lot considering his profession and own fucked up morals.

The key to maneuvering the messed up politics in the Sin-Božji family was to know which of the brothers you could speak somewhat freely to, and which to keep as much out of sight from as possible. And those you could speak freely to, you had to make sure you did it when they were alone if you wanted glimpses of their true nature. Sasha didn’t care jack shit for _Otac_ or the other uncles. His first loyalty had belonged to the Croatoan who recruited him, but when he died Sasha was already moving upward and his special talents had caught _Otac’s_ eye. He was brought to the Heart to teach and discovered that he actually liked the intelligent brood of boys despite the poison seeping into their minds from their so called father. At that point his loyalty switched towards the Божја браћа on a personal level. He owed his life to the _Porodica_ and had long since accepted the lifestyle. He was going to live and die caught up in this and it wasn’t bad. He’d travelled round the world countless of times, gotten to see experience extreme luxury and horrid poverty, learned and seen things few ever would. He was well paid and had contacts to help him procure almost any object or service he or the Божја браћа would ever need. 

He hangs up the phone and books a flight for later that night, to go fetch the requested substance from Doug himself, looking forward to meeting the man in person again. His biggest discontent with his work was that the last couple of years he was mostly utilized because he was highly trusted, not due to his particular talents. But it was a small grievance in comparison. Now _this_ , what he was doing right now, this was fun. A job he got to plan all by himself and could take his time with. He had wanted to laugh out loud when Anna said Castiel had been the one to pay the price for her to be able to have a childhood. It was somehow poetic that she would pay the price so Castiel could have an adulthood. At first he couldn’t see the resemblance between the two. But now that he had sat down to talk to her he changed his mind about it. She would tilt her head sometimes and look at you as intently as Castiel ever did. At those instances the sibling relation was obvious. The difference was that Castiel would be unreadable whilst she was open and innocent. He had liked describing Castiel to her. Not as mockery, but because he missed him and somehow wanted to talk about him. The urge to do so had gotten stronger since he had the younger man pinned down in his sniperscope last year in Sweden and decided not to pull the trigger. So he had allowed himself to be swayed by Anna’s request and thus sharing a tiny fragment of his own heartbreak. But he wasn’t here to wallow in it nor to find out more about his former recruit.

Sasha sees Anna come home on the screens in front of him. She is a creature of habit. Putting the keys on the same place every time, same goes for jacket. Today is Sunday so she doesn’t do homework, but she still dumps her bag in the kitchen and makes something to eat. She drinks juice straight from the container and leaves the dishes for later. Upstairs, shower and redress. Downstairs again and turn on the TV but not watching. Practise acting in front of the full body mirror in the living room, stall to just scrutinize herself far too close, upstairs to the bathroom again but this time to weigh herself on the bathroom scale. Mutter rebellious curses about how she looks fine and don’t have to diet and if they want her they’ll want her as she is. _Good girl. You’re beautiful as you are. Don’t let people make you think differently._ Downstairs again, talk in the phone with a friend or her boyfriend. It’s Sunday so he’ll most likely come over later to let her cook him dinner, watch a movie with her and then fuck her. He won’t stay on Sundays, he makes up some bullshit excuse about why he needs to go and she’ll act as if she’s fine with it, which she isn’t. She’ll toss and turn for at least one hour before she falls asleep. Sometimes she cries. _You should get a better boyfriend, girl. One who sees what you’re really worth. Your Jake is a cheating asshole._

He watches a while longer. Anna is in a good mood today. He can only hope it has to do with their encounter. Then he goes upstairs to pack for the flight tonight.

* * *


	14. Precious Cargo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha is ordered to pick up Sam for a session with Michael.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings for this chapter:**  
>  \- Michael friendly. (kinda)  
> \- Involuntary drug use.  
> \- Sam POV
> 
> **Notes:**  
>  You know when I said I would post the chapters in order of when they happen? Yeah? I lied. That will only be for Anna related chapters, okay?

* * *

**2011**

* * *

April the 27th

Sam spots the man the moment he comes out from the school yard. It’s hard not to when he looks like he is in an ad for something very masculine. Cologne perhaps? It doesn’t matter what. Sam sees him and instantly _knows_. “Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. The man is casually leaning against the side of a silver sedan with his arms crossed over his chest. He is wearing fashionably washed out dark grey jeans, a black leather jacket with a grey hood, and gradient sunglasses of the most popular model. His hair is silver, he is tall, clean shaven, muscular towards the stocky side, in his late thirties or early forties. The man sees him looking and raises his hand in a friendly looking wave. _Yeah right._

Sam sighs and crosses the street. “Mr. Winchester, I’m here to take you to your appointment,” the man says amiably as he rounds the car and holds up the passenger door for Sam.

Sam stops and glares at him after rounding the car. “Go fuck yourself,” he spits bitterly. He’s so fed up with Michael’s little games. ‘Appointment?’ _Ugh._ The man doesn’t take offense, just waits patiently. And for all he exudes masculinity, he doesn’t posture or tries to look intimidating. Sam looks around. “Where are the others?”

”The others? No others this time Mr. Winchester. Only takes one person to drive a car.”

Sam snorts. “Yeah well, usually there’s three or four of you guys.”

”Ah. He sends the brainy gang? Yes I can see how operating a vehicle while keeping a passenger safe can be a challenge to them,” the silver man concedes with humour in his voice and startles a laugh out of Sam.

Sam gets in, dumps his bag in the footwell, and buckles his seatbelt while the man closes the door and goes around to the driver’s seat. Sam speaks up as he gets in. “Keeping me _safe_ isn’t exactly your priority, now is it.” He makes it a statement, trying to keep bitterness from his voice this time. He could have put up a token resistance at the pick-up. He usually does unless it’s Michael himself making it. But he’s friggin weary of this shit and the man hasn’t threatened him or his family for once. Even the illusion of free will gives a comforting feeling.

The man doesn’t start the car. He removes his sunglasses and puts them on the dashboard, then turns to look at Sam. He has startling grey eyes. Dark at the edges fading to almost white around the pupils. He rests one arm on the steering wheel. “Our objectives are clear Mr. Winchester. Take you to Michael safely and unharmed. I intend to do that. No lowly mudmonkeys taking you and messing up this time okay?” He looks serious. 

_Mudmonkey_. Sam friggin’ _hates_ that word. He’s heard both Michael and Lucifer use it as a derogatory term. He scowls and blows a sceptical raspberry. “Yeah right. Like _you’re_ not a mudmonkey.”

The man’s lips twitch in amusement. “Perhaps. But I’m not a _lowly_ mudmonkey,” he says, winks, and starts the car.

Sam makes a sound between a contemptuous snort and a chuckle. “What _-ever._ It’s kinda a moot point considering what you’re taking me _to_ ,” he says in annoyance as they drive away.

The man makes a noncommittal sound, but shrugs in acquiescence. “How long have these appointments been going on?” he asks instead. 

”You don’t know?”

”How can I know? I just got here,” the man says with a slightly irritated expression. “It’s not something I need to know to do my job. Just curious.”

Sam notices he has the faintest trace of an accent when he speaks. _Russian?_ He looks at the man. Really looks. His features are slavic. Strong jaw, high cheekbones, his nose just on the verge of being hawklike. He is tanned, has a few crows feet around his eyes, and the other lines on his face shows he smiles a lot. He has an aura of competence and confidence. A handsome man. But not classically beautiful. Although he has thick, long, dark eyelashes that most girls have to use loads of mascara to mimic. All in all, he is hard not to notice in a crowd. “Four years,” Sam answers after a while.

The man makes an impressed whistle. “That’s a long time to live with torture. How often?” he says and throws Sam a glance.

Sam looks at him suspiciously, trying to gauge if he is being mocked, finding nothing but curiosity. “About once a month. Sometimes less often, sometimes more.”

The silver man throws him a concerned look and makes a sturgeon face before turning his attention back to the road. He gives the impression of mulling it over.

”What’s your name?” Sam asks, just to make conversation. The ball of worry of what’s to come has begun forming in his stomach and this guy isn’t as bad as he could have been so any form of distraction is welcome.

”You can call me Dmitri,” the man says. His lips twitch, like he is making a joke.

Sam snorts. “I didn’t ask what i could call you, I asked what your name is,” he snaps irritably.

’Dmitri’ chuckles in amusement. “Well, Mr. Winchester, that’s what my drivers license says―Dmitri Krushnic.” There’s something impish about how he says it. Like it should mean something more. Not that Sam can figure out what.

”Fine, _Dmitri_. You can call me Sam. ‘Mr. Winchester’ seems ridiculous under the circumstances. Unless you’re out to poke fun of me in which case you’re doing a good job,” Sam says peevishly.

Dmitri shakes his head. “Not my intention Sam. I’d say ‘nice to meet you’, but I believe the sentiment isn’t returned.”

”You’re right. It isn’t. You can go to hell for all I care.”

Dmitri shrugs a shoulder and doesn’t answer. They drive in silence for a while. Dmitri digs inside his collar and grabs a pendant hanging under his jacket. He strokes it back and forth over his lips while he drives. It looks habitual. He only lets go when he has to shift gears. It reminds Sam of how one of his teachers, a widower, tends to twist his wedding ring around his finger over and over without thinking about it. “You from Russia?”

”Yes.”

”Where are you from?” Sam asks, switching to Russian, jumping at the chance to practice. If ‘Dmitri’ is surprised at the switch he doesn’t show it.

”St. Petersburg.”

”Huh. What’s St. Petersburg like?” Sam bombards the silver man with questions about his homeland to keep his nerves at bay and he gets answers to the most of them. It’s almost a pleasant conversation. Both for the chance to use another language and for the polite friendliness the man displays. Suddenly Sam kind of hates him. Not for who he is, but for who he’s working for. Sam doesn’t want to _like_ any of the goons Michael sends to get him. He prefers being able to think of them as stupid, evil bastards worthy of contempt and pain. But Dmitri is _nice_ and doesn’t fit in that black and white picture Sam wants to hold on to.

”Look. You seem so normal. How’d you end up working for Michael?” Sam wants to know, switching back to English.

Dmitri chuckles, throws a look at Sam, and then bursts out laughing. When he has collected himself he answers with an amused smile. “If this is how you see normal you have gotten your standards twisted from a very early age. You do understand that I kill people for a living, don’t you Sam?” he says and raises an eyebrow. 

No. Sam can’t wrap his head around that. Not really. But Michael had had a friggin’ sniper aiming at Dean for Sam’s benefit. The thought of this decent guy could have been that man―in theory at least―seems absurd. Dmitri shakes his head and chuckles to himself. “It’s the regular story really,” he says. “Shitty childhood, shitty parents, shitty life…”

”So what, you got involved with the wrong people, and then what?” Sam asks.

Dmitri turns more serious, earnest. “Sometimes… Sometimes the wrong people are the right people for _you_. You get what I’m saying?”

Sam wants to say ‘No’. But images of people he cares about flashes in his mind. Dean kicking dad over and over threatening to kill him if he hurt Sam. Of how Dean used to come home with bloody knuckles and wads of crumpled bills telling him ‘ _don’t ask_ ’, supplying him with brand name clothes there was no way they could afford, staring into fires with that transfixed look that scares Sam, drinking too much, acting impulsively and self-destructively. But always, _always_ , looking out for him. He sees Gabe who is shady as fuck, hiding behind a prankster-mask, who came into their life and just help grounding them without really asking for anything in return. He even sees Ruby. No longer a part of his life but who at one point made a great difference for him. He sees Tom, his 17 years older lover whom he only meets a few times a year. _Their_ relationship can not be accounted for as anything but totally _wrong_ , yet when they meet it feels like brief moments of healing. And he sees Lucifer. And if Lucifer isn’t the very epitome of what Dmitri is trying to say, then Sam doesn’t know who is.

Dmitri elaborates in Sam’s silence. “I was burning myself up, doing very bad things to myself, when these people found me and saw something worthwhile in me. I had already OD’d twice, just narrowly escaping death when they pulled me from the edge. They saw talent where I thought I had none. Gave me purpose and camaraderie. Respect. They helped me get clean. I own my life to these people. I would have been dead 20 years ago without them.”

”Who are ‘they’?” Sam asks. It has been bugging Sam for so long now and Lucifer won’t talk.

”Ask Michael. It’s not my thing to tell you.”

Sam holds back a huff of frustration. “So you were a drug addict?” he asks instead. Why this man is so forthcoming about himself is beyond Sam, but he is still curious.

”да,” (yes) Dmitri confirms.

”Ever fallen off the wagon?” Sam wants to know.

Dmitri fingers his angel pendant, rubs it between his thumb and index finger. He throws a look at Sam and then watches the road in silence for a beat. Then he shrugs to himself. “My speciality is drugs. I design them and know _a lot_ about those you can get on the streets and over the counter. You need something for a special purpose you come to me.” He squeezes the pendant in his hand. “In 2007 I met someone unlike anyone I’ve ever met before. Real special guy. Had something about him that just drew you in. A real wild card, unpredictable, you know? He had a drug problem. When I held out a pill to him he’d let me put it straight in his mouth and swallow. Never asking what he was given. Sometimes I’d give him a real trip, sometimes something that’d make him talk, sometimes I’d give him something that make him collapse in pain, almost blowing his heart and making his whole body seize in cramps. And yet.. still he would open his mouth and take whatever I gave him afterwards, no questions asked.”

”Dude, that’s messed up.” Sam’s not sure if he’s talking about the guy or that Dmitri would just give somebody drugs that’d do that.

Dmitri shrugs a shoulder. “But he got to me somehow. He was totally mad and sucked me into his madness. I was as addicted to him as I ever was to drugs.” That pendant drags along Dmitri’s lower lip back and forth in the pause that follows.

”He gave you that necklace?” Sam hazards. The silver man’s lips twitch in amusement and he looks at Sam appraisingly. “You were lovers,” Sam states.

Dmitri chuckles. “I can see why Michael likes you, Sam, you’re sharp.”

Sam scoffs. “He doesn’t _like_ me. He likes to see me suffer. Kinda big difference. Don’t change the subject.” He has no idea why Dmitri is telling him all this but he is intrigued and want to hear the rest. 

Dmitri chuckles again. “Bossy. Okay. Yes. Towards the end we were. He had me all confused and turned around but in a good way. He got turned on by danger and I was enamored by how he would only allow _me_ to get him off at those occasions. It was a odd thrill. I always carry a little jar with an assortment of drugs. So one night after a job I gave him a good trip and pushed him up against a wall to get him off. He took the jar from me, dug up a pill and held it up to my mouth. So I stand there with this wild eyed beautiful man pushed against me, his dick in hand and blood all over us since we nearly got done in on this job. I’m already high on adrenaline and, I suppose, in a sense, love? And the temptation is too great. I take it. Fell off the wagon as you said. And had I not lost him I would have stayed off too.”

”You lost him? What happened?”

”Fire. The very next day. I wasn’t there.”

”I’m sorry,” Sam says and means it.

Dmitri gives him another apprising look. Takes in Sam’s honest sympathetic puppy eyes. “Why would you be? I’m driving you to a very unpleasant faith. Nothing about me merits your empathy.”

”Why not? Okay so get this, I’ve lost somebody to fire too. And whatever work you do, you’ve treated me good. Not like some kinda friggin’ animal that needs to be caught.”

”You credit me too much Sam. When Michael says ‘precious cargo’ it means the cargo is precious. Had he told me to rough you up I would have.”

”What- _ev-er_.” Sam gives Dmitri a playful shove on the shoulder which takes the older man totally by surprise. “You’re just trying to hide that you’re a decent human being,” he says with an impish grin. 

The act startles a little laugh out of the silver man and he gives Sam another appraising look, re-evaluating. Then he makes a sturgeon face and shrugs. “Maybe, maybe not. I’m decent enough that some people like me and that’s good enough for me.”

”You miss him?”

”Yes. He had a sister. I tracked her down and I’m here to take care of her. A last favour for what he did to me, you might say.”

”That’s nice.”

Dmitri’s lips twitch and he watches the road. “Yes. I’m looking forward to it.” Something about how he says it sounds off key to Sam, but he doesn’t comment on it.

”What was his name?” Dmitri doesn’t answer. His lips twitch in amusement yet again. Like Sam just made a joke. There’s these little shifts in the muscles by his eyes, the tiniest lowering of the head and Sam just knows. He snorts in amusement. “‘It says so on your driver’s licence’,” he quotes. “Man, that’s just sick.”

The man who calls himself ‘Dmitri’ smirks and gives him a wink. “Sam, if I wasn’t so busy while I’m here I would convince Michael to let me recruit you. You’re sharp as a razor. With the right training you’d go far.”

Sam scoffs and make an indignant bitchface with all the contempt only a teenager can muster. “Why the hell would I want to work for _Michael_?”

”He’s a good boss when you’re at my level. Knows how to utilize your talents, gives you good rewards, don’t make unnecessary displays of power, shows you respect. Not all of them does.”

That just sounds crazy. Michael is a monster. Anything but that conclusion makes something in Sam cower in the corner while screaming in blind horror. It has to be impossible for him to be good when he can do so horrible things. It has to. Sam pushes down something inside of him that has been building for months to avoid losing his shit. “Bullshit. He’s a freak, and I wouldn’t want to work for him for all the money in the world!”

Dmitri chuckles at his indignant bluster. “Fair enough. We’re almost there now. Do you need a ride back home again? I’m going back to twin towns anyway. I can wait if you wish,” he says as he turns on the blinkers and drives onto a small dirt road in the middle of nowhere farm country. 

The offered kindness takes Sam unawares and he instantly gets suspicious. They’ve been driving for more than an hour and it will be hell getting back. There’s no reason whatsoever for this stranger to help him. “Is that even allowed? Are you allowed to do that?”

Dmitri shrugs, lips twitching in amusement. “I wasn’t going to ask for permission. And I haven’t been given orders _not_ to do it. What can I say? It’s my free time, I do as I please.”

If it’s a joke―it’s cruel. Sam definitely doesn’t trust the silver man who lies about his name, whether he’s likable or not. He can’t help the hope that flares in his chest, it comes unbidden. He curses himself for it. “It’s not like I know how long this will take… And I’ve always enjoyed walking. But thanks anyway,” he says. He hears how flat the lie sounds, but he has to shield himself from the disappointment. Hope can be a bitch sometimes.

It’s clear by the look Dmitri gives him that he knows Sam is lying and probably why too. He doesn’t say anything though. He parks the car by an old barn. Michael’s car is already outside. Dmitri gets out, rounds the car and opens the door for him. By now trepidation is taking over. Michael opens the barn door and motions Sam to come inside and Dmitri gives him an encouraging pat on the shoulder before waving to Michael and getting back in the car. Sam hears him drive off as he enters the barn.

* * *

Three hours later Michael has left and Sam has finally managed to scrape himself off the ground. “A good old fashioned beating” Michael had called it. It was far from it. Sam may have grown taller than the Angel this year and wasn’t a bad fighter when up against average joe, but he was nothing compared to Michael. He had made Sam fight. Made him get up over and over again just to be beaten down. Like a cat playing with his food. All the while showering Sam with praise and encouragement which was fucked up beyond belief. He was bruised from his legs up to his collar bone. Nothing in his face though. The hits he had taken to the head were very well placed and would not leave anything more than the barest hints of lumps that would only be visible for someone specifically looking for them. He was pretty sure he had a concussion. He ached all over and felt totally, helpless, hopeless, worthless, _destroyed_.

He staggered outside. Some part of him _despaired_ at seeing that no silver sedan was waiting. It’s not like he was expecting it. He had turned down the offer. You couldn’t trust these guys anyway. And today Lucifer wouldn’t turn up. He knew this already. Michael had had the audacity to apologise for having him taken so far away from twin towns because they had a post-season away game and he had to be able to get to the right city on time. In the end Sam had been so exhausted he hadn’t even tried to push Michael away when the ten years older man had dragged him into his lap, cradled him and stroked his hair while telling him how good and strong he was, how proud he was of Sam. That if Sam could just see himself through his eyes Sam would understand how special he was, how radiant he shone compared to other people.

The thing was, it wasn’t the violence and the pain that made Sam feel so utterly obliterated this time. It wasn’t being smacked around like a helpless puppy that did it. Why now he couldn’t say, but this time Sam had caved in a completely different way. It had been brewing in the darkest corners of his mind for months. Maybe it was the slight concussion combined with exhaustion? Maybe it was just the long-time wear and tear? Sam couldn’t say. But he had shattered and given up in a way he had never in his wildest dreams thought himself capable of. _He had let himself be comforted._ So desperate to be put together again that instead of being nauseated by Michael’s gentleness when cradled in his lap he’d been soothed by it. And worst of all―he’d sought it out.

***---***

Michael’s hand stroked his hair steadily. A couple of tears ran along Sam’s cheeks. They were tears of exhaustion, not from pain of desperation. He was thoroughly beat. Empty. There was nothing more to give. He kept his eyes closed. “Don’t cry sweetling. You did so well. You always do. You’re amazing Sam. You _are._ I’m so proud of you…” Michael’s voice is a low hum. He sounds so sincere. How can he sound so sincere? Sam has always taken it as mockery. What if it isn’t? He wishes it wasn’t. He wishes he was worth the praise. He wishes he didn’t want it. But he feels so small, so broken, so dizzy. For once the hand stroking him and the arm around his waist feels like they’re the only thing holding the remnants of him together. The soothing praise seeps into the emptiness inside of him like balm. Michael’s hand comes down to dry the tears off his cheeks gently. _Please._ Sam thinks. What his inside is begging for he doesn’t know. He turns his cheek into Michael’s palm. Michael’s movements stop for a beat. “I need to leave now, Sweetling. Time’s running up.” 

Sam opens his eyes to meet his gaze. With the last ounces of strength he can muster, Sam moves his arms. He reaches them around Michael’s waist and closes his hands around the fabric of his T-shirt in a pathetically weak excuse for a cling. “Don’t go…” he says, barely above a whisper.

The effect on Michael is instant. He looks stricken. He probably couldn’t have looked more shocked if Sam had stabbed him. Sam somehow thought he would look victorious, but it’s the opposite. He looks horrified and heartbroken. His eyes becomes glassy with the hint of unshed tears. He looks _vulnerable_. Then he tugs Sam up, hugs him tightly to his chest and buries his head by his shoulder. “Oh baby, _no_. I’m so sorry. I am. I can’t… Sam, sweetheart, you don’t understand. I can’t. I can’t. I’m so sorry. I should have brought ice-packs and painkillers. I should have… But I can’t. I worship you Sam. You’re such a brilliant creature. The best thing outside of my family. That’s why I can’t. You don’t understand…” Michael babbles. He actually babbles. He batters Sam’s senses with raw emotions that feel real and strong. His grip is painful around Sam’s bruised torso yet feels so good. Without any defences left in his mind it feels like love.

Years of using physical touch as a coping mechanism makes Sam’s instinctual response to Michael’s behaviour is to open his mouth and taste the skin where his head is resting by the juncture of Michael’s neck and shoulder. He tastes salty and smells vaguely familiar. A scent he can’t place now, but that he associates with love, affection, and feeling free. He runs his tongue over skin and sucks lightly, like a babe suckling, trying to fill the void inside of him. “No no no. Don’t do that Sam. I need you to hate me. I need you to defy me. I can’t have this. You don’t understand. You’re not family.” Michael presses kisses against his hairline and forehead but stops Sam when Sam tries to seek out his mouth, wanting Michael’s raw emotions translated into physicality. “Please don’t do this, baby. Please. You’re so radiant. Every time we meet I see your light more brightly. But I knew from the start. I knew. Remember the promise I made you when you were fourteen? That there would be no fucking of any kind between us? This is part of that promise, okay? I can only have your suffering and hate. I can’t have this. You’re not family. Don’t do this baby.” He rocks Sam back and forth and his voice is so wrecked. Sam doesn’t get it. It’s like it’s Michael who’s falling to pieces, not him. _Why?_

Sam manages to get out a weak “ _Need you…_ ”, letting go of Michael’s tee and flattening his hands against the older mans back, holding him closer, feeling more of him. Needing to be close, to be held, to be loved and healed.

”I know you do, Sam. But it’s not me you need. Anybody but me. Don’t go all Stockholm syndrome on me, Sweetling. I can’t take it. I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry. But I can’t. I’m not allowed to worship you that way. I need you to hate me. Please hate me, Sam. _Fuck._ ” Michael’s hands come up around his neck. Sam is lucid enough to know he is being choked. There’s no fight or fear left in him and he passes out quickly.

He wakes up lying on a soft but prickly bed of hay. A blanket for a pillow and another one draped over him. Michael is gone. This was not how he passed out. Memory comes flooding back.

***---***

Sam sinks down with his back against the barn door. The sky is turning pink and the temperature is slowly dropping. He can hear birds chirping. They’ve got no right, those birds, to sound so happy when he is here―a shattered remnant of what he once was. Thoughts he’s been fighting for months bounce freely in his head, unleashed by what happened. And he can’t deal with it. He just can’t. He’d cry, but he’s so empty, there’s nothing left. He sits there, unable to make himself start walking. There’s no point. He doesn’t know how long he sits there―not very long if the colour of the sky is to be judged by even if it feels like an eternity―before the silver sedan comes into view, driving up the dirt road towards the barn.

Sam watches in dumb silence as the car parks and the silver man gets out. His jacket isn’t closed this time so Sam can see the two holstered guns underneath. Normally Sam would have reacted to it, but not now, he’s too empty. “Hey Sam, sorry you had to wait. Didn’t know how long you’d be at it so I went to get some coffee,” Dmitri says and squats in front of Sam. He is smiling but his eyes are sharp, looking Sam over, taking stock and cataloguing the state Sam is in.

Sam can’t really get the dots to connect. Why is he here? It doesn’t make sense. Sam just feel dazed. “Why are you here?”

”To drive you home. Said I would, didn’t I?”

”I declined,” Sam states. His voice is oddly flat. He doesn’t recognize it himself.

Dmitri waves a hand dismissively. “Nobody is _that_ fond of walking, Sam,” he says softly.

Sam just stares at him. Empty. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.

”Do you have any injuries that need medical attention? Any broken bones? Cuts or burns? Ingested any poison?” When Sam still doesn’t answer Dmitri grabs his chin in a firm grip and fishes a small flashlight out of his pocket. He shines it in Sam’s eyes, watching his pupils respond and puts the flashlight back. He yanks Sam’s shirt up and examine the damage, poke and prod at the bruised ribs, ignoring Sam’s hisses of pain. All the while keeping a professional mask on his face. 

Sam lets him. After all, what’s a little extra pain. Dmitri’s hands are effective and they quest his body in a goal oriented way, not in a malicious manner. Not that Sam would care. He’d let Dmitri do whatever he wanted right now. Some part of Sam wants the silver man to take from him what he offered Michael that Michael rejected. Just as a proof that he is wanted. Dmitri may be older than him, but can’t be that much older than Tom. His hair is short. Cut in the style of police or military personnel, but long enough to look casual. It looks soft. Like spun silver. Sam lacks impulse control at the moment and before he even know what he is doing he has reached out and touched it. “Soft,” he says. It is as soft as it looks. 

Dmitri tense up a bit and his eyes jumps to Sam’s face at first touch. But he allows Sam to pet him while he finishes his examination. Then he grabs Sam’s wrist and removes the hand. “Nothing broken and no open wounds. Just bruising as far as as I can tell. Can you walk by yourself?” When Sam just keep staring dumbly at him he hauls Sam to his feet and supports him to the car. “You forgot your bag in the car so I did your homework. Hope you don’t mind. I was bored out of my mind.”

Normally it would have made Sam laugh at the absurdity of one of Michael’s hired goons doing his chemistry homework for him while he was busy getting the shit beaten out of him. “‘S fine,” is all he says now. 

Dmitri holds the door open for him and helps him get in before going around and getting in. Sam fastens the safety belt on auto pilot while Dmitri reaches back where he has a couple of grocery bags. He gets a bag of frozen peas and hands it to Sam. “Hold this against the bruising on your left side ribs. That seems worst off.”

Sam obeys mechanically. “Peas?”

”Don’t underestimate the power of greens,” Dmitri says and winks. Another thing that normally would have made Sam laugh if his insides weren’t consumed by a void. Dmitri starts the car while eyeing Sam with concern. They drive in silence for a little while before he speaks up again. “I saw Michael’s car when i was coming back to get you. He was speeding.”

”So?”

”So he’s usually a very conscientious driver. Never reckless. Now he was. I want to know why.”

”Maybe he was late,” Sam offers, staring out of the window unseeing. His voice is still flat and odd.

Dmitri flips on the blinkers and leaves the highway. Sam hardly registers that they pull over at a parking lot outside of a McDonalds and that Dmitri gets out. He doesn’t look up until Dmitri gets back in with two Big Mac and & Co and the scent of food hits his nostrils. “Milkshake or Coke?” Dmitri asks.

”I’m not hungry,” Sam says while his stomach rumbles in protest at the sentiment. Dmitri raises an eyebrow. “Fine. Milkshake,” Sam says and takes the offered food. They eat in silence. Sam’s body tells him he is ravenous despite him hardly tasting the food he still wolfs all of it down. Every little move he does is painful but he can’t make himself care. He deserves it. He knows that now. Those thoughts that had sprung free of their confines earlier is a testament of that. Dmitri collects their trash and throws it in a nearby bin before they continue their journey.

It takes about ten minutes then the pain begins to fade and seem distant. Sam’s thoughts turn fuzzy and colour seems brighter. “Dude. Did you drug me?” he asks perplexed.

”да,” Dmitri answers with a skewed smirk.

”How did you know I’d go for the milkshake?” Sam wants to know. His thoughts getting fuzzier by the minute.

Dmitri chuckles. “I didn’t. I put it on your burger. Don’t worry. It was mostly pain relief that will last for hours unless you take something that counters it. I also gave you something that’ll make you feel good and loosen your tongue. That will not last very long.”

Sam opens his mouth to say something but instead he giggles. It’s funny. He’s not exactly sure why, but it is.

Dmitri’s lips twitch in amusement and he gives Sam a pleased look. “There we go, Sam. Feels good, right?”

Sam gives him a big grin. He feels like he is floating, colours move in odd patterns around him and he stare at the silver man in fascination. Dude’s weird. The word weird is weird. W-e-i-r-d. Should be pronounced W-ee-ai-rd. He giggles.

The silver man nods. “You should write to congress about that.”

He should! He will. This is an important issue. Everybody should be made aware about this. They’ve been taught how to pronounce it all wrong. The whole thing is a sham. They should write a new law about it or something. 

The silver man’s shoulders shake in silent laughter. He is nice. Why is he nice? It makes no sense. He’s supposed to be evil. They all are. But they ain’t. Not the silver man at least. Ooo! Was that a cow? Sam twists in the seat to peer out of the window and promptly forgets about the silver man as the colours rushing by catches his attention instead. The car slows down and stops by the side of the road. A hand lands firm and warm on Sam’s thigh and Sam’s attention jumps back to the man beside him.

“I want you to look at me Sam. Can you do that?” Dmitri says.

Of course he can. What else is there to look at?

”That’s the spirit. Okay I want you to listen to me now. Today Michael was speeding when he left you. He wasn’t late. He was upset. And you could not possibly have survived four years of appointments with him if you were always left in the state you’re in now. Something happened today that hasn’t happened before, right?”

Yeah. Today was different. Very much so. And Michael acted weird about it. Sam doesn’t get it. He won. He should have been triumphant about Sam’s surrender, but he wasn’t.

The silver man is serious now. “Okay. I need to know exactly what was different about today. What did Michael do that was weird? What did you do different?”

Sam thinks about Michael’s odd reaction to him reaching out asking for him to stay. It made no sense. What does it mean? What does it matter if he is family or not? And it’s just messed up. Telling him that he’s the best thing outside of the family, that Michael worships him, but can only have his suffering and hate? That he’s not _allowed_. That’s preposterous. Sam had allowed him to have everything today and he hadn’t wanted it. But he was allowed! Sam allowed him, _asked him for it._ He’d realised they were the same. So why had Michael stopped him when their foreheads were pressed together and Sam had tried to kiss him? He thought there was a moment when Michael was going to do it. He’d been wrong. He was just a fun game in Michael’s eyes. But they were the same. So why could Michael not see that?

The hand disappears from Sam’s thigh as Dmitri grips the steering wheel in a white knuckled grip and leans his head against it. “ _Fuck!_ Precious cargo indeed.” 

Oh no! He’d displeased the silver man too! He really was no good to anybody. Now the silver man didn’t even want to touch him. What had he done wrong?!

Dmitri sits up straight and turns back to Sam, placing one hand on his thigh again and cupping his cheek with the other, making sure he doesn’t look away. “No Sam. You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re being really good, okay? You want me to touch you? That feels better for you?”

Yes it does. Much better.

There’s still a hint of concern in Dmitri’s features but his lips twitch in amusement anyway. “You got it. But no funny business okay?” He removes the hand cupping Sam’s cheek and strokes soothingly up and down the thigh, getting Sam to relax once again. “Okay Sam. Now I need to know what it was that made _you_ feel different today. Why do you feel like you do now?”

All the thoughts Sam has tried to deny bounce freely in his head. Dmitri watches him intently, nods and ask a question now and then, guiding his thought process.

”You’ve done good Sam. The drug will wear off soon. Normally you’d remember more of this but I’m afraid the pain relief I gave you may mess with how much you remember. No worries though. Considering what you’ve told me that may be for the best.” He removes his hand from Sam’s thigh and points towards a tree further down the road. “Now look at that tree. Isn’t it beautiful? Doesn’t it make you happy, Sam?”

Sam looks at the tree and it is _awesome_! The most beautiful tree he has ever seen!

Dmitri chuckles and starts the car again.

A while later Sam wakes up, head rested against the window. He feels fuzzy and numb. Somewhere beyond the numbness a vast abyss on dark nothingness threatens to well up. He sits up straight and looks at the man driving the car. Dmitri. “Dmitri, did you drug me?”

”Yes. Pain relief mostly. It will wear off gradually within ten hours.”

”Oh. Um… Thanks, I guess.”

”No problem. I’m going to give you two pills to take with you. Not pain relief. In fact, it will negate the effect. But I think you need them. It’s one of my own designs. They will help you feel better, make you connect and not feel alone…” Dmitri describes the drugs he is going to give Sam to take with. Ordinarily Sam would say no. But the things that happened today is lurking under the surface sending tremors through him, causing a mental flat line. He wonders how long he slept. It feels like he has forgotten something.

In the end he takes the pills with him when Dmitri drops him off outside the apartment. 

* * *

Sasha watches the tall youth cross the street and enter the apartment building with a concerned expression. He liked Sam. He could see what attracted Michael to him. Despite what he saw in the boy when he came to get him afterwards. He hoped Sam would make it through, that he’d get help in time. No matter. Sasha had done what he could when it came to damage control of the ‘precious cargo’. What really worried him was Michael. Michael was one of the good ones of the Божја браћа. Now it seemed like he followed in his favourite kid brother’s footsteps, getting a “puppy” of his own. Sasha didn’t disapprove. But the possible consequences worried him. He started the car and drove off.

* * *


	15. The Handy Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha is working his way into Anna’s life, gaining her trust.

* * *

**2011**

* * *

Early March

Sasha watches the argument playing out on his screen with interest. He plug in headphones to hear better.

”Dammit Jake! You’re a carpenter apprentice for God’s sake. Is it really too much to ask that you help me fix at least a few things around here? The house is falling apart!”

”That’s exactly it! When I’m not in school I work all day with fixing other people’s houses. I don’t want to do it on my spare time too.”

”But you’re my boyfriend!”

”What are you saying? That just because we’re together I’m obliged to fix your damned house? Huh?”

”No. But if you really cared for m―”

”Oh no. Don’t go there! You’re just using me. You’re a selfish bitch that’s what you are.”

”I’m not using you. I’m just asking for a little help, dammit!”

”Yeah, whatever. I’m outta here.”

”I’m sorry, Jake, please don’t go. _Dammit!_ ”

Anna screams in frustration as the door slams shut behind Jake and some plaster falls from the ceiling above it. She kicks the wall angrily then turns and sinks down with her back against it and starts to cry. Sasha removes his headphones and sends a silent thank you to Jake for being such a dick. It gives him an idea for his next move.

* * *

Anna is in the store buying groceries when she turns a corner to the aisle with breakfast cereals and spots him. He is standing with two different boxes of cereals in his hands and an expression of vexation as he looks between them. For a moment she almost panics and dives back to hide due to the nervous flutter in her stomach. But she has thought about him a lot and really wants to talk to him again so instead she takes a step in his direction. “Hey!”

The silver haired man looks up, spots her and a smile breaks out on his face like sunshine through dark clouds. “Hello again fair lady. Maybe you can help help me make one of life’s tougher choices. Disgustingly sweet and sugary,” he holds up _Kellogg’s Frosties_ , “or not sweet enough and sawdusty?” he holds up _All Bran Flakes_ in his other hand.

Anna taps her lips with a finger and feign thinking hard. “You’re right, that _is_ a tough choice. I don’t suppose you’d go for buying both and mix them to make disgustingly sweet sawdust?”

The man’s lips twitch in amusement. ”That doesn’t sound very enticing at all.”

Anna takes one of those multi packs of different mini boxes from a shelf and holds out to the man. “Problem solved,” she says and smiles.

The man chuckles, puts his boxes back and takes the multi pack from Anna’s hand and puts it in his basket. “Alright. I can go for that. Thanks, miss…” he arches an eyebrow in question.

”Anna. My name is Anna Collins.”

The man smiles and holds out his hand towards her. “Hi Anna, I’m Dmitri Krushnic. Nice to meet you.” Anna shakes his hand. He has big hands and a firm grip. “Say, Anna… I had a really nice time last time we met. And I was wondering if you’d be interested in maybe have a cup of coffee or maybe lunch with me sometime?” For a moment the man, _Dmitri_ , almost looks shy despite his smile.

”Yeah I’d like that,” Anna answers, and on impulse adds “How about now?”. Dmitri looks startled, then grins, looks down on the floor and runs a hand through his hair. “I mean, I need to do my grocery shopping first, but then we can go for lunch if you’ve got time?” Anna clarifies.

Dmitri looks up. “Yes. That sounds good to me.”

* * *

_Too easy. You should be careful Anna. Don’t be so trusting. Everyone who is kind to you does not have your best interest at heart. You should definitely not invite me into your house so easily._ Anna is so starved for attention and kindness that she does half the work for Sasha. So here he is, helping her carry in grocery bags into her house. On their second round into the house he makes sure to stumble on the loose board on the stairs up onto the porch deck and curses.

”Oh. I’m sorry! Are you alright? The house is falling apart, I should have warned you,” Anna says from behind.

”I’m fine. But loose boards like that can be dangerous. Accidents can happen too easily,” Sasha says and gives Anna a concerned look over his shoulder on his way into the kitchen.

Anna gives him an apologetic look. “Yeah I know. But I’m totally useless at home repairs. I end up hurting myself every time I try, and I can’t afford to hire anybody, so…” She shrugs and puts the bags on the counter where he just unloaded his.

”Huh. That’s a shame,” he says with a thoughtful look. “I’ll be outside while you unpack.”

”Okay.”

He hurries to his car and gets his toolbox. By the time Anna comes back he is almost finished fixing the stairs.

”Oh my god. You didn’t have to do that!” Anna protests but she is smiling and looks deeply moved.

Sasha gives her an impish smile. “I know. But I had tools and time. And I don’t like the thought of you hurting yourself.” 

Anna’s smile becomes impossible wide. “Thank you soo much! You have no idea how much it means to me.”

Sasha feigns embarrassment, looks down and smiles while rubbing his neck self-consciously. _Look at me pretty girl, being shy and sweet just for you._ He looks up at her again with raised eyebrows. “Do you have anything else you want fixing? I may not be a professional, but I can do simple house repairs well enough and I already have the tools out.”

”Oh gods. I don’t know. There’s so much that needs fixing and I can’t pay you, so…” Anna looks regretful.

Sasha holds up a hand to stop her talking. “Anna. I’m new in town, I don’t know anybody yet and I’m bored when I’m not working. You’d be doing me a favour by giving me something to do and making me feel less lonely. So it’s really not a problem.” 

Anna hesitates. “I don’t want to take advantage…” she says.

 _Yes you do._ Sasha makes himself look like he is considering something before he looks back at Anna. “How about this? I haven’t had a homecooked meal I didn’t make myself for years. You make me lunch and I help you with repairs and we both benefit from it?” He gives her a hopeful smile.

Anna’s return smile is radiant. “That’d be great. Thank you. You want something to drink?” she asks and motions him to come inside. “I’ve got juice, coffee, beer…”

He takes his toolbox and follows her inside. He removes his jacket and hangs it up by the door. He made sure to dress casual today. Faking the American look. Washed out blue jeans, a black tee and a plaid shirt. “A beer would be nice.” _Beer you keep stocked just because of Jake._ Sasha feels very pleased with himself when Anna hands him one of her boyfriend’s beers and takes one for herself.

He gets to work. First he fixes the things he knows has been bothering Anna the most. The things that makes her curse when she’s alone. Anna comes and goes, divides her time between him and the kitchen. He takes off his shirt and ties it around his waist, showing off how the T-shirt clings to his broad shoulders. Later he will watch the recordings of this, to see if she checks him out behind his back. He’ll be what he needs to be to get to her. He had thought a father figure was the role he was scripted to play since there is some significant age difference between them, but it seems like Anna isn’t looking at him that way, like she responds better to flirting. Still, time will tell. Trust is the ultimate goal here. To make her dependent. Anna talks a lot. He listens attentively while he works, looks her in the eyes, asks questions. Does his best to seem sincere and interested. She hungers for it. To be seen. He flirts a bit, testing the waters, and feign shyness as he does. It works well on her. He doesn’t check her out though. A sweet girl like her would have enough men leering at her as it is. Besides, he has already seen her naked in every possible way. 

Most of the rooms in the house are unused. Old furniture collecting dust, nothing changed since her mother’s death. She only uses the master bedroom, the living room, the upstairs bathroom and the kitchen. She tells him about how it was living her when she was a child. They were fairly well off. Her mother was affectionate in a distant sort of way. She can’t recollect being hugged by her mother until her mom got sick. Before that she was spoilt with toys and visits to the zoo, movies and museums. That changed as the cancer treatment ate up all their funds. The only thing left for her to inherit was the house and it’s content and she didn’t get access to it until she turned eighteen, by then a decade of neglect had taken it’s toll on it.

She had been taken from her mother by the child service a couple of months before her mother died. By then her mother had been hospitalized and couldn’t care for Anna. Her foster parents were strict and wouldn’t let Anna try to contact her dad in Europe. They kept pressing the point that he’d abandoned her and she was unwanted. _Unwanted._ That was the very key to Anna. She’d been drilled to believe it was her job to please, to listen, do as she is told. Made to believe that’s the only way she was worth anything to anybody. She didn’t say that of course, Sasha just read between the lines of her stories and fitted it in with how she acted. This was also the reason she was drawn to people that would treat her badly. Sasha felt sorry for her. With the right people in her life she could flourish. Too bad it was not in the stars for her. But it made his job so much easier.

They eat together in the kitchen and Anna finally starts asking questions about him. “So what do you work with, Dmitri?”

”I’m a security consultant.” He takes a swig of his second beer after finishing the last of the stir fry on his plate.

”What does a security consultant do?”

”I help companies and sometimes people protect their assets. Basically, it’s my job to try to predict possible threats and then prevent them before they happen. Make sure the company or person is safe.” He smiles. The military, the job, all lies of course, but close enough to his actual job to make the lies seem honest.

”You must be good at what you do, cuz you make me feel safe,” Anna says, smiling at him.

Sasha twirls his bottle, feigns an embarrassed smile while looking down on it, but opting to sound cocky. “I’m the best at what I do,” he says. His other hand goes up to finger his angel necklace and Anna giggles.

Anna’s hand comes to touch his necklace, a few fingers resting on his chest beside it. “That’s a beautiful pendant,” she says as he looks up.

”Thank you. It’s the angel of Thursday,” he says.

” _Castiel_.” Anna’s voice is a mere breath as she says it and looks at him with big eyes.

”I’m sorry…?” Sasha opts to look as if he doesn’t understand.

Anna clears her throat. “Castiel. It’s the name of Thursday’s angel.”

”I didn’t know that,” he lies with a little smile.

Anna gives him one of those radiant smiles again. “It’s also my brother’s name.”

”Really? That’s an unusual name.”

”We’re named after angels. My real name is Anael, Anna ‘s just a nickname.” Anna giggles and gets a mischievous glint in her eyes. “It must be a sign. Like my brother sent you to me or something.”

Sasha chuckles and covers Anna’s hand with his own where it’s resting on his necklace. “I like that thought,” he says and holds her gaze long enough for her cheeks to colour prettily and tension to build. Then he gives her hand a little squeeze and lets go, returning his attention to his beer. Anna is flustered after that and Sasha turns the topic onto safer grounds for her, where she can feel more confident. He tones down his flirting too. Partly to make her a bit uncertain of his interest. To make her fight for it. They talk about her acting dreams. Yet again, a wish to be seen.

Before it’s time for him to leave he gives her his fake business card. “I really enjoy your company Anna. If you feel like meeting up again sometime, or just want to talk, or need help, don’t hesitate to get in touch, okay?” he says and squeezes her shoulder with a hand, locking his eyes with hers too long but keeping enough distance between their bodies for her to be uncertain of if he is looking for friendship or something more. _Be on your toes, little girl. It’s time for you to start chasing me._

”Yeah, okay. Thanks again. For everything.”

”You’re welcome. Take care now.” With another little squeeze to her shoulder he turns around and leaves.

* * *


	16. A symbiotic relationship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha comes home from playing handy man for Anna and discovers his house has been broken in to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings for this chapter:**  
>  \- Michael friendly

* * *

**2011**

* * *

Early March

Pleased with how the day turned out Sasha parks in his driveway and takes his gun out of the glove compartment before he exits. A quick scan of the area for anomalies, finding none he heads for the door, reaches out to unlock the door and… _The string is broken._ Heartrate shooting up and adrenaline surges all at once. The little hair thin string he sets up every time he leaves is broken which means the door has been opened. Gun in hand and flattened to the side of the door he slowly tests the door handle. It’s locked. This house doesn’t have a back door. The windows are booby trapped from inside. He goes around the house, scanning the inside through the windows that aren’t covered by blinds and curtains. He sees nothing suspicious. Back at the front door he unlocks as quietly as possible, waits a moment, listening intently. Nothing. He flings the door wide, standing to the side so any ambusher may startle enough to shoot at nothing and give up their position. Still nothing. A quick peek inside and ducking back behind cover again. The basement door is open. He slips inside and shuts the door to ward off alarm from neighbours.

Quickly he clears the one storey house and then focuses his attention towards the basement. The basement door had been locked too, not wide open as it is now. He scans for traps, finding none he sets a foot on the top stair.

”Relax Aleksandr, it’s just me.”

 _Michael._ Relief calms Sasha’s beating heart as he puts his gun away, closes the basement door and walks downstairs. Michael is sitting in his office chair watching his monitors with his legs up on the desk. “Бог брат,” Sasha greets and stops at respectable distance, hands clasped behind his back. Now _why_ Michael is _here_ is another matter that Sasha is interested to know.

Michael waves dismissively without taking his eyes of the monitors. “At ease. It’s quite a set up you’ve got here. I mean, you said you wanted to come here because of a girl but _damn_ , either you’re one kinky bastard or your intentions weren’t as pure as I thought. Hey, watch this...“ Michael rewinds one of the screens to the point where Sasha leaves Anna, then hits play. When the door closes behind Sasha Anna presses her hands holding his business card against her mouth and makes a sound between a squee and a laughter, jumps up and down a couple of times, then presses her hands against her heart and twirls. Sasha doesn’t hold back the pleased smirk. Michael pauses the screen and gets up from the chair. A couple of quick strides and he is face to face with Sasha, gripping the angel pendant. “Can I have this?” he asks.

Sasha doesn’t hesitate to answer. “No,” he says flatly. Michael is all about testing people. He does not necessarily want ‘the right’ answer. He pokes and prods at people’s limits. Seeing how far is too far. This just proves to Sasha that Michael has been watching for a while and picked up on Sasha’s attachment to the object. 

”Have you ever worked with Jeff Carrigan?” Michael asks, scrutinizing Sasha.

”Yes, Sir.”

”I asked him if I could have his wedding ring and he handed it over without any protests.”

 _That’s because he is a disgusting brown nose with no sense of loyalty for anything but money._ Sasha keeps quiet, face blank. Jeff is another Croatoan. Sasha doesn’t like him.

Michael continues. “So I asked him if I could have his daughter. You know what he said?”

”Without a doubt he said yes,” Sasha answers curtly.

”So he did. Without any hesitation he was willing to give me his four year old daughter, no questions asked. Wouldn’t you say that is the ultimate proof of loyalty?” Michael says with a little smirk and pats the angel pendant on Sasha’s chest, smoothing it back in place.

 _No._ Sasha doesn’t say anything, keeping his features smooth.

Michael waits a beat, until it’s clear that Sasha won’t answer. He goes back to the office chair and sits down, puts his feet up and laces his fingers together over his stomach while looking at Sasha with a tiny smirk playing on his lips. But his eyes are razor sharp, the eyes of a hunter. “Now how would you suggest loyalty like that should be rewarded, Aleksandr?” he asks and raises an eyebrow.

”Preferably with a suicide mission to Yemen, Sir.”

The answer startles a little laugh out of Michael. He has a smile in place and looks over Sasha appraisingly for a minute. Then his smile gives way for a serious expression. “Nicaragua actually, but close enough. I’m sure Jeff feels comforted to know that his family was well compensated after his death.”

”Overjoyed,” Sasha says, tone dry enough to suck moisture out of the Sahara. Then a smile slowly spreads over his face, mirrored by an equally slow smile on Michael’s face in a silent understanding.

”So can I have her?” Michael says and points towards the monitors without looking away from Sasha.

”Of course, Sir.” _No._

”I don’t like when you lie to me Aleksandr,” Michael says and frowns.

”No lie. You want her, you can have her. Do I want her for myself? Yes. It’s personal, but not _that_ personal.”

Michael nods. “Fair enough. Care to fill me in what this is about?”

”It’s a retributional job, Sir.” Sasha hesitates for a fraction of a second and stops the impulse to finger his necklace, but not until his hand has done a little aborted movement that Michael notes. “The _Porodica_ was doublecrossed. … _I_ was doublecrossed. Sir.”

Michael taps two fingers thoughtfully against his lips. “How?”

”I recruited a dud, Sir.”

Michael’s eyebrows rise in surprise. “Really? That’s a first for you isn’t it?” Sasha nods. “Who cleared him for initiation?”

”Babyface. I’m not sure how he cleared the background check. Once he dropped out it was obvious his identity was fake.”

Michael throws up his hands in exasperation. “Babyface. Of course.” He gives Sasha an apologetic look. “Babyface is good at a lot of things but he is sloppy with background checks for potential croats. I doubt he did one at all. He seems to think you should handle all that by yourself.”

”I would have if he had ordered me to, Sir.”

”You didn’t _interview_ the recruit?”

Sasha gives Michael a _please-how-stupid-do-you-think-I-am_ -look. “Repeatedly. He gave me no reason to suspect foul play. Insanity? Yes. But not betrayal.”

Michael chuckles at Sasha’s attitude. “Very well. Who was the dud working for?”

”As far as my research goes he was unconnected. I’m not 100% sure, but I believe he wasn’t working for anyone.” _Not that it matters._ After initiation the knowledge harboured is too great and anyone with a bone to pick with the _Porodica_ would be interested to pick Castiel’s brains first.

”Hmm.” Michael spins in the chair so he is facing Sasha with his whole body and leans forward, elbows on his thighs. “Exactly how personal is this for you?”

Sasha swallows, unwilling to answer. _Never lie to a_ Бог брат. “Sir? On the record or off the record?” he hedges. This is where personal knowledge of the Sin-Božji brothers comes into play. Just by asking the question he gives away more than he wishes to. But he is also letting Michael know that he is willing to go into detail if he isn’t going to be punished for it. This is not the right thing to do with all of the brothers. It all depends of the level of respect they pay Croatoans and how good they are at silent politics and reading between the lines. It also depends on the level of trust he has for them.

Michael sits up straight, raising his eyebrows. “Off the record. Permission to speak freely. And feel free to sit down if you wish.” He motions to the pull-out couch along the opposite wall. Sasha placed it there to make monitoring Anna’s nightly activities more comfortable.

”Thank you Sir. You want a beer?” Sasha gestures at a mini fridge beside the couch, doubling as bed stand. Another indulgence to make studying his mark more comfortable.

”Sure, thanks. And if we’re off the record you call me Michael. Fuck, Aleksandr. I remember you cuffing me on the ear for not paying attention on your lessons and covering up for my failings. If we’re to talk, _we_ are to talk, okay?”

”If that’s the bar you’re setting I might as well call you _Mikey_ ,” Sasha says as he uncaps two beers and hands Michael one. He smirks playfully to let Michael know he is joking. Michael - _the boy who cared too much_. Still does. If any of the Божја браћа ever were going to put a bullet in their own skull, it was Michael. Sasha hopes that will never happen. Looking at the man in front of him now, Sasha still sees little Mikey. The boy who desperately tried to make sense of the madness that is expected from him but went opposite of his inherent nature. The boy who would help baby birds back in their nest if they had fallen out, who would carry frogs to safety if they sat in the middle of the road. The boy who snuck money into beggars cups when no one was looking. Sasha remembers the wild panic in Michael’s eyes when Sasha had discovered him playing with a girl his age from the outside that he had made friends with, how he had shielded her with his body and begged Sasha not to tell _Otac_. Those were the ‘ _failings_ ’ Michael was talking about. Already as a child he’d been the big brother in the house, even to his older brothers. Always offering comfort, support, and keeping the peace amongst them. Trying _so hard_ to live up to _Otac’s_ expectations, and, because he was good, he did. Today he was mad of course. Something torn inside of him. But that boy was still locked in his skull, screaming in anguish and clawing at the walls of his prison.

”Don’t push your luck,” Michael says with an equally playful smirk, but visibly relaxes at the mention of his nickname. Sasha sits down on the couch and takes a swig of his beer. “So. You were telling me of the dud…” Michael urges and follows his example, downing a third of his own.

Sasha snorts in self-deprecating amusement. “His name was Dmitri Krushnic. He was as brilliant as he was mad. Would have made a hell of an asset. He got to me. Found his way under my skin. We became close.”

”How close?”

Sasha fingers his necklace absentmindedly, makes a face and shifts uncomfortably looking at the floor.

”No shit! You were _boning_ him?” Michael may not be as brilliant at reading people as Lucifer, but he was still good at reading between the lines. Sasha looks up at Michael’s baffled face and shrugs with an expression of regret, hating to make the admission. “I didn’t even know you swung that way,” incredulity carrying strong in Michael’s voice.

”Neither did I until I met him. Still not sure I do or if it was just him.”

Michael lets out a bemused laugh and shakes his head. “So were you boning him before you recruited him?”

”Hey! No need to insult my intelligence. Of course I wasn’t.” Sasha frowns in annoyance and waves his hand dismissively at Michael. “That came later. Crept up on me, you get what I’m saying?”

Michael snorts. “No wonder you consider this to be personal. Where is he now?”

”When I called you with the request for a transfer I was standing over the dead body of Dmitri Krushnic. Anna,” Sasha gestures at the monitors, “is the closest thing he had to a family. I’m keeping up tradition and letting her take part of the punishment since Dmitri’s death was way too swift.” Sasha is balancing on a knife’s edge when it comes to the rule of never to lie a Бог брат. His mouth feels dry and he takes another swig of the beer. Luckily Michael has turned to look at the monitors unfreezing the paused screen, not seeing the tiny tells of the lie.

”That’s good. You know why we are so hard with our punishments, Aleksander?”

”The fear factor.”

”Yes but it’s more to it.” Michael looks back at him. “You heard the story of how it started?” Sasha shakes his head. Michael looks down on his beer and picks on the label. “Back in the days when it was just _Otac_ and his brothers fear did half the work for them. Rumours spread like wildfire. Some of those rumours got back to _Otac_ blown out of proportions and he decided that every rumour about them was going to be true. So that when nosy buggers set out to dispel the myths starting to build by seeking proof of their inaccuracy they’d encounter proof of the opposite. And with that fear grows.” Michael takes a swig of his beer and purses his lips in thought. “The first time he put his decision to work he heard a rumour of a baker that supposedly had crossed them. According to the rumour they had killed the baker and his whole family by hanging them with their own intestines, man, woman, children, and dog. So they searched the baker out and did just that. Thing is, the baker hadn’t crossed them. They hadn’t even heard of of the baker before that.”

Sasha remains silent, wondering why Michael is telling him this. He also in a corner of his mind wonders how it corresponds with the rumours about _Otac_ and his brothers sharing the same bed. He doesn’t dwell on that.

Michael taps one of the monitors. “This, and so many other of our retributions play out in silence. You know this of course. Often there are no visible strings attached to the _Porodica_. It’s made out to look like natural causes or random acts of violence.” He takes one of the notebooks on the desk and holds it up. It’s a notebook where Sasha has written down plans and M.O. for the job and it had been carefully hidden beneath a floorboard. Of course Michael had found it while he was here alone. “That’s why we do this. So if somebody digs deep enough they’ll find terror and keep the belief that there’s no escape from us.” He turns a couple of pages in the notebook, looking at them, but clearly he has already read all of it. “Your setup here is good and goes very well in line with _Otac’s_ original vision. We’ve been squandering your talents, Aleksandr, by using you as a blunt instrument.”

”I don’t mind being a blunt instrument. I’m a simple man with simple needs,” Sasha says.

Michael hums. “Mm, yes. That’s kind of why I came here today. Babyface called and wanted you back, stationed with him.”

Sasha barely stifles a groan. “If you’d just give me a couple of days to fini―” Michael holds up a hand to stop him from talking.

”I said no.”

 _Oh._ Sasha leans back and takes another swig of beer. Michael has no cause keeping him here. Not really. So why say no?

”When you called and asked for the transfer I pulled your service record. You know how long you have been working for us?”

”Twenty something years?”

”Twenty five years since you were made a full Croatoan. I don’t know how long you were in training since we didn’t keep record of that back then.” Michael’s face is serious as he speaks. “During this time you have been squeaky clean. Gone wherever we have pointed and done whatever we asked of you. You have been forthcoming when you found your limits, like working the trafficking gig, rather than keeping your mouth shut and building a grudge. I respect that. _We_ respect that.”

Sasha chuckles. “Is this a staff appraisal?”

Michael smiles at him. “You can call it that.” His face turns serious again, he has a purpose and is not letting go. “I also noted something interesting. You’ve been offered a number of permanent posts as Head of Operation and declined every one. But performed splendid every time you’ve been the temporary Head of Operation.” Michael falls quiet and looks at Sasha, seeing if he has something to say about that. Sasha remains quiet. He prefers to be mobile. Not locked up for life in a certain position. When Sasha doesn’t speak Michael goes on. “I also checked your bank accounts. We’ve paid you well and you’ve accumulated quite a fortune that you barely have touched. But the most interesting thing I found, was that during all your years working for us, you have _never_ asked for a certain transfer, or a vacation, or anything that wasn’t somehow related to your job.”

”I haven’t felt the need,” Sasha says when Michael looks at him questioningly.

Michael waves a finger at him. “That’s what I was getting to. This is a symbiotic relationship. You croats take care of our needs and we take care of yours. So naturally, when you ask for a specific transfer for the first time in twenty five years I take it that it’s something you need. That’s why I said no to Babyface. But I came here today to clear it with you face to face. Do you _want_ to go back to Russia? If so, you’re welcome to do it. But if not, I will secure your position here until you yourself tell me you want to move on. You’ve _earned_ it.”

”Thank you. I would like the chance to finish this gig properly,” Sasha admits.

”And after that? Any particular jobs you’re interested in?”

Sasha shakes his head. “Anything but stakeouts and I’m happy. I like the variation.”

”You ever thought of retiring?”

Once again Sasha shakes his head. Croatoans were allowed semi-retirement if they served long enough or got crippled. Either by taking on some menial stationary overseer job or ‘ordinary’ retirement where they might be called upon to get back on duty. But the truth was that few Croatoans lived long enough to do so. “No. I always figured I’d die on the job.”

Michael snorts in amusement. “Live hard, die young?”

”Nah. Live hard, die old as fuck in bed,” Sasha grins. “Probably by a bullet in the head, but no matter. That’s the state of things. Besides, if I retire I would just end up doing what I do now but have to fund it myself. I’d probably end up dying of boredom if I didn’t.”

Michael chuckles. “I hear you. And since we’re off the record―I think I might be doing just that. Feels like I’m rotting away in this hell hole with nothing to do. It’s fine now while the hockey season is in full flight, but in the summer? Luci might be fine walking around sniffing flowers and watching birds, but I’m not. Care to let me in on a corner of your gig? I’m not going to take it away from you, but it’s quite a social experiment you’re conducting here and I got some ideas while reading your notes.”

Now _that_ Sasha could get on board with. Even if there always would be moments when you had to balance a knife’s edge when you dealt with Божја браћа it was nice to work with somebody. (If they weren’t totally horrible or stupid.) Sasha was no recluse and Michael would make good company. “Sure. What did you have in mind..?”

* * *


	17. A game of Memory

* * *

**2011**

* * *

 

March

Anna thinks she must be going mad. Stress is getting to her. She knows memory can be affected by stress but it’s still a bit scary. She can’t really trust herself anymore. Like, she remembers connecting her phone to the charger before she went to bed. But in the morning it’s unplugged and her battery is almost dead. She remembers locking the door when coming home, but it’s unlocked when she is heading out. She is so sure she bought tomatoes, but when she opens her fridge to use them there aren’t any. And when she wrote her paper on her laptop in the evening she finished it. She remembers finishing it. But she was dead tired and the last paragraph is missing so she thinks that maybe she just thought about what she would write and somehow forgot to write it anyway. She remembers putting her phone in the kitchen and finds it in her bedroom. And there’s nobody else than she in the house when these things happen so it can’t be any of her friends. She can’t trust her own memory. It’s getting to her. Making it hard for her to fall asleep. And with lack of sleep she gets more stressed and it get worse.

* * *

Across town Michael comes down in the basement. Sasha looks up from the monitors. “Tomatoes? Really?”

Michael smirks and throws him one of the tomatoes from the bag which Sasha catches with one hand. “What?” Michael says looking self satisfied. “I heard her talking to one of her friends on the phone saying she was going to make bruschetta for Jake when he comes over. Can’t make bruschetta without tomatoes.” He winks and sits down in the second office chair they’ve added since Michael got involved. He takes a bite out of another tomato and pulls a bunch of small McDonalds salt packets from his pocket. Holds them out towards Sasha in a silent offer. Sasha takes one and puts some salt on the tomato before he starts eating. “And you’re hardly one to talk,” Michael grins. “ _You_ snuck in to unplug her phone beside her bed like some creepy fucker when she was sleeping. Admit it, you just like to watch.”

”Hey. I _am_ a creepy fucker. I _like_ to watch.” They share a look and snigger, then turn their attention to the monitors, watching Anna slowly lose her mind while they're eating her tomatoes with salt.

* * *


	18. The Monster within

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam in the aftermath of his last session with Michael, the one Sasha picked him up from. (Not necessary to read to keep up with the rest of what will happen in the Croatoan.) This chapter shows what impact Sasha had on Sam's life. Somewhat bigger than their brief encounter would suggest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings for this chapter:**  
>  \- Suicidal thoughts  
> \- Mentions of suicide attempt  
> \- Sam/Male OC  
> \- Underage (Sam turns 18 within a few days)  
> \- Big age difference  
> \- Drug use  
> \- Bottom!Sam
> 
>  
> 
>  **Notes:**  
>  To know more of Sam and Tom's relationship. [Read this chapter of The Sexual Education of Sam Winchester](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3226415/chapters/7253138).

* * *

**ABSOLUTION**

* * *

April the 27th 2011

”T-Tom?”

”Shit, kid. Are you alright? Hold on I just need to…” There’s a scraping noise when he covers the microphone. Sam can hear him talk to someone, then some other noises as Tom is walking, a door opening and shutting. Then Tom is back. Wind makes static noise in the mic, revealing he has gone outside. “Sam? What happened? Are you alright?” Worry laces his voice.

”N-no. I’m not. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called…”

”Bullshit. Where are you?”

Sam squeezes his eyes shut. He shouldn’t have called. ”At home… Can-can you come here? I need… I need to be... loved, I-I think.” He feels stupid saying it. He doesn’t even know how far away Tom lives. He shouldn’t ask for this. He is destroying the man’s life bad enough as it is.

There’s silence over the line for a while. “Could you get yourself to the Victoria Hotel in the city?” Tom asks reluctantly when the silence draws taunt.

”Yeah. I can.”

”Good. Get yourself over there and wait in the lobby. I’ll be there within two hours.”

”Yeah. Okay.” Sam hangs up without waiting for a goodbye.

* * *

He hears the room number Tom is checking into from his place in the lounger in the lobby. They haven’t made eye contact yet but Sam knows Tom saw him. Sam gets up and goes to the elevator. In a few days he’ll turn 18 and this won’t be illegal anymore. But Tom will still be married, and still risk losing his family, his home, his everything, if they’re caught together. So Sam goes to the elevator and rides it to the right floor before Tom has finished paying. Nobody should make the connection about their rendezvous. Sam stops and studies the fire escape map on the wall once he steps out. A few minutes later the elevator dings and the door slides open. Tom and an old lady steps out. A flick of the eyes is the only acknowledgement between him and Tom. They’re strangers, just briefly noting each other. Tom goes to his room and the old lady continues further down the corridor. Sam doesn’t move until she has entered her own room. He hurries to Tom’s room and knocks. The door opens as soon as his fist connects with the wood and Tom pulls him in, locking the door behind them.

Tom grabs his head and studies him with worried eyes. Sam’s head keeps swimming. He feels both totally empty and full of despair. At the same time his head is floating, everything is kind of fuzzy and far away. It’s all that’s keeping that feeling of total defeat at bay. He is not sure if it’s the concussion or the drugs the silver man had dosed him with. “Did you take drugs?” Tom asks. So it must be visible in his eyes then.

Sam nods. “N-not intentionally.” There’s a tremor in his voice he can’t hide. “I’m-I’m sorry. I s-shouldn’t have called you.” He feels so small. So undone. He needs someone to put him back together. Someone bigger, stronger, to take the reins. He needs physical contact to ground him in a way Dean can’t give on the base of being his brother. He can’t show himself to Dean this way. Dean would freak out. 

Sam might be taller than Tom now, but Tom is still broader, more solid. Won’t be blown over by a gust of wind. Won’t need Sam to take the lead. “You were drugged?” Tom says instead of answering Sam’s apology. His hands are warm, holding his cheeks in a firm grip. They keep Sam steady.

”Y-yes. But with good intentions. K-kinda. It’s mostly pain-relief. A-and to n-numb me out until I could f-find someone to… Look. I got these,” Sam digs out the small plastic bag from his pocket and shows Tom the two pills inside. “they’re supposed to, I dunno. Help? I don’t wanna take ‘em alone.” He has no idea how Tom will react. The only time Sam has done drugs before was smoking pot with Dean twice. Lucifer’s warning not to say yes has kept him fairly straight laced.

Tom studies the bag. “Sam…”

”Please, c-call me kid. Today. I need. I need you to…” To what? _Claim me. Use me. Touch me. Fucking love me._ He doesn’t say it. Just looks pleadingly at Tom, willing him to understand.

Tom’s blue eyes are back to look at him. “What happened?”

Sam pushes him away and with unsteady jerky movements removes his shirts to reveal the extensive bruising on his torso. He hardly feels any pain. Whatever the silver man gave him it was effective. He doesn’t look at Tom while he undresses. He kicks off his shoes and removes his jeans and socks too, so the full extent of damage is visible. “Kid?” Tom says and makes him look up. Tom is standing with his arms crossed, chewing on a thumbnail like he does when he’s embarrassed. Except this time he isn’t smiling. His eyebrows are drawn down in concern and his eyes big and worried. “Were you raped?” he asks.

Sam shakes his head. “N-no. Worse. I would. I would have wanted him to. I can’t handle that. It’s been going on for years. I broke this time. G-gave up. Needed him to stay. Put me back together. O-own me fully. H-he wouldn’t. I can’t explain. Please don’t make me explain. Just.. Just make these,” Sam touches some of his bruises, “ _yours_ instead. An-and love me while you do it. I know this is fucked up. I know. But… Could you? Love me? Be-be rough about it to erase what he did, then put me back together like he wouldn’t? Make me yours? Am I making sense? I’m fucked up. I’m so fucked up right now. I’m in pieces and I need you to hold me together. I don’t know…” Sam shuts up. He’s a mess.

Surprisingly, Tom nods. “You’re making perfect sense, kid,” he says around the thumbnail he is nervously gnawing on. “What you’re describing is something akin to how I felt about the coach I told you about. Why I came back for more every time we visited that school. And, shit kid. I do love you. So I don’t know how rough I can be but I’ll make those bruises mine one way or another.” He removes the hand from his mouth and gestures at the bag with the two pills still in Sam’s hand. “And those? How do they work?”

”The man who gave me these said―”

”The same man who did that?” Tom gestures at Sam’s body.

”No. A guy working for him. I think he took pity. He said I could either swallow them whole and g-get a more intense and longer rush, lasting 4-6 hours, or I could let ‘em melt on my tongue and-and share them that way if I wished. But then the rush would last 3-4 hours tops. He said they would negate the pain relief in the stuff he dosed me with, but by then it wouldn’t matter because pain would feel good too. I dunno. He said it’d make it easier to connect. To not feel alone. I dunno. I don’t…” he trails off.

”You trust him?”

Sam shrugs. The truth is that at this moment, he didn’t trust anybody, least of all himself, but he’d do anything he’s told to.

”Okay, kid. That means we have approximately six hours worth of tripping together. Unless you want to have them yourself?” He raises his eyebrow in question. Sam shakes his head vigorously. Hell no! Share is good. He says as much and Tom smiles for the first time since Sam came. “You want to start this on even ground or should I keep my clothes on?” Tom asks. 

At first Sam doesn’t get why he’s asking, but then he realises Tom is well aware of his authority kink-thing- _whatever_. ”Keep ‘em on?”

Tom walks up to him and grabs the plastic bag from him. He takes one from the bag and puts the bag on the nightstand. He holds up the pill. A pink oblong thing the size of a fingernail. “Going to hell together?” he asks.

”Yeah… You ever, um…”

”Done drugs?” Tom finishes for him and Sam nods. “No,” he says and pops the pill into his mouth without hesitation. “But I’m already doomed by what we’ve done so far. So why not let my little demon kid take me down further?” Humour glints in his eyes. He leans in for a kiss. Sam melts into it. He has never met anyone who kisses as good as Tom does. He tastes of chemicals and faintly of orange. Tom pushes the pill into his mouth with his tongue while backing him up against the bed. Sam wonders why anybody would bother to put orange flavour in a drug. It tingles a bit on his tongue, makes it slightly numb. He wonders how long it will take before it has effect. He pushes it back into Tom’s mouth before he falls onto the bed, Tom crawling on top of him and resumes kissing while caressing his sides and stroking his head. They push the pill back and forth between them until it has melted completely. Sam had anticipated it to hit slowly, but when it hits Tom―it hits full force. Sam is looking into his eyes when his pupils suddenly blow wide, swallowing up nearly the whole pupil. He draws back to stare wide eyed at Sam in wonder. Whispering “ _shit_ ” under his breath. He touches Sam’s face and sucks in breath. Sam longs to know what he is experiencing. Tom keeps looking at his hand as it trails down from Sam’s face to his collarbone. “ _You’re me. This is me,_ ” he says sounding totally enraptured.

For Sam it comes sneaking up on him, possibly due to it’s interaction with the other substances in his body. His spherical vision starts greying out, and he feels lulled and warm. Like lying in a boat on a hot summer day, just lazing while small waves rock the boat. Soon he starts to feel his aches again. But it’s not unpleasant. It’s like his body confuses pain and pleasure, making any and all sensation good ones. And with the pain returning he can feel Tom touching him. Before he’d been numb. Not so now… And then, _it hits_.

Every single touch of Tom’s fingertips and lips feels… vibrant. Like colourful swirls would feel if they were sensation. Sam feels like his chest expands with every breath he takes, filling him with more oxygen than ever. He could float away by all the air if he wasn’t already… infinite. He looks down on Tom who is currently sucking hickeys on top of one of his bruises, making it his. “ _Whoa!_ ” Tom looks up at Sam’s wondrous exclamation. He grins, his eyes burn brightly and Sam can _feel_ him. There’s no other way to describe it. Wherever they connect they _connect_. It’s like wherever Tom touches him he feels both fingers against his skin and skin against his fingers. Only where he sees the actual touch happen. Except it’s impossible. He knows that. His mind conjures the memory of how it feels to touch skin and seeing fingers touch him sparks the sense-memory and in his drugged state his brain can’t discern between memory and actual sensation and… At least that’s what he thinks is happening. He tells Tom that.

Tom laughs. “You’re capable of a whole lot more advanced thoughts than me at the moment, kid. I’m quite happy with just accepting the fact that you’re me. How does it feel if you close your eyes?”

He closes his eyes and feels. The rough pads of Tom’s fingers trace his collar bone. They’re warm and leave a glowing trail to Sam’s inner eye. Swirling embers dance over Sam’s skin, sinks into his flesh and tickles his core. It’s weird and good. Like he is feeling in metaphors. Sam can’t describe it but tries anyway. Tom’s mouth is hot and wet, like being submerged in a hot spring. “Make it hurt,” Sam urges, curious now. Tom digs in his thumb in one of the bruises by his ribs. And it hurts. It does. But it’s also _awesome_. Waves crashing against jagged rocks, fire consuming a field, a tree being ripped up by the roots. It’s like he suddenly knows how nature feels. A line of a poem he once read comes to mind. “ _Yes, of course it hurts when buds are breaking. Why else would the springtime falter?_ ”

Apparently he said that out loud because Tom answers with the next line. “ _Why would all our ardent longing bind itself in frozen, bitter pallor?_ ” 

Sam laughs. He may be caught in this body of flesh, but he is one with everything. There is no past or future, just this single moment in time. “Tear me to shreds Tom and make me belong,” he says. He remembers he wanted that when he came. But he can barely remember why. It’s just him and Tom here and he is Tom. The fabric of Tom’s clothes rubs against his body creating sensations he should not even be able to have. Like he could remember how the wool felt when it was still attached to the sheep in the pasture, or the cotton when a breeze tugged at it out on the field. No. He could remember it. He keeps his eyes closed. Reality was fading and left was just the trip. He was everything. Tom moves on top of him kissing, sucking, pinching, poking, licking. Everything elicits a new sensation, barraging his brain with mixed impressions until he is a swirl of fireworks and not a trace of advanced thinking remains. And yet, when Tom starts talking he is fully capable of answering.

”This bruise is mine,”

Tom says while a forest fire painfully claims lives in Australia on Sam’s chest.

”What did I do to deserve it?” Sam asks. He is smiling at the swirls of smoke in the wind.

”You wanted things that were wrong and forbidden.” Tom’s tongue sweeps over the abused area and flowers push through the ashes and reach for the light in a soft rainfall, insects buzz and birds fly free. Life returns and begin anew.

”This bruise is mine.” A blizzard howls through month long night over male emperor penguins in Antarctica on Sam’s hipbone when Tom bites it.

”Oh yeah? What did I do to deserve it?”

”You defied your parents.” Soft kisses on the hip and daylight returns with sun and females with bellies full of fish for their young. The snow glitters like diamonds as excited mates are reunited.

”This bruise is mine.” Salmon fights their way upstreams through a gauntlet of hazards to breed and die in exhaustion in British Columbia on Sam’s thigh when Tom digs his nails in and tears at the bruise.

”How did I deserve it?”

”You gave in to pressure.” Gentle caresses and the eggs the salmon gave their lives to lay hatch and life begin anew.

It goes on like that. Every bruise is poked harshly, bitten, or slapped, making pain bloom with another impression. He is the Gobi desert, the Russian taiga, the ocean, cities and fields, forests and mountains, massive destructive forces and suffering. Then each bruised is licked, kissed, caressed or blown on gently. With it comes a reason, a crime, a sin committed. _You lied to your friends and family. You took advantage of somebody’s trust in you. You let somebody abuse you. You act against your better judgement. You reveled in power someone gave you despite knowing it caused them emotional hurt._ And with each sin also comes salvation, renewal of life, healing. 

Had Sam not been on a trip of a lifetime he might have reflected on how Tom couldn’t possibly know these things about him and thus it had to be a reflection of Tom’s life. Yet every thing Tom says reverberates with Sam’s thoughts and actions through his life. He might have reflected on how he is set free and absolved _by_ the sins rather than given an excuse or a counter of a good deed or thought to earn the kisses and caresses. But he doesn’t reflect on those things. He is a destructive force and feels no shame or guilt about it. Not now, not like he usually does. For once, he feels no need to make up for it. He wants adventure and excitement in his life. Maybe he should want peace and normalcy. But he doesn’t know normalcy.

He isn’t aware of his underwear being removed or Tom undressing. Not until Tom gives warning. “This is going to hurt like hell, kid. You up for it?”

Tom’s lubed up cock nudges his hole. Sam has no idea where the lube came from.He hasn’t prepped Sam _at all._ “Yeah. I can take it. I need it. I want it.” He keeps his eyes firmly shut. Tom presses in, slowly he forces Sam open. And the pain is blinding. He is fucking big bang happening all over. He is dense intense _heat_ compressed infinitely. He is exploding outward, expanding, expanding, taking over all around him. He might have screamed. He doesn’t know. Tom bottoms out and keeps still, but Sam is still expanding with heat above and beyond. There is no life, only heat. Eventually he cools down sufficiently to form subatomic particles, and then become simple atoms. “How… How d-do I d-deserve this?” he chokes out at last.

”You fell in love. You love.” Tom’s voice is strangled and he bends down to kiss Sam. His hot tongue finds it’s way inside Sam’s mouth and atoms coalesced through gravity to form stars and galaxies. Sam is the Universe compressed into a single body made of flesh and blood.

When Tom withdraws from the kiss Sam opens his eyes for the first time since they started. Tom’s cheeks are tear-streaked. Sam must have looked stricken because something prompts Tom to speak. “I am you,” he says. Sam looks down to where they are joined together and suddenly he feels it. He feels his inner walls pressing tightly around his cock. Except it’s Tom’s cock. He reaches out and strokes a hand down Tom’s bicep and feels that too. He gets it then. While Sam had kept his eyes closed and experienced everything as if it _wasn’t_ his body, but things happening in time and space beyond his awareness, Tom had kept his eyes open and lived all the pain he brought upon Sam.

Sam surges upward and kisses Tom, wrapping his arms around him. Then it’s just hunger, want and shared pleasure. Eyes open and joined movements. When Sam comes Tom follows. It’s like having a double orgasm. Awesome doesn’t begin to describe it. They fall asleep afterwards.

When Sam wakes up the buzz has worn off. Tom is already awake and is lying on his side, head up supported on an elbow and caressing Sam’s stomach gently with a calloused hand. He watches Sam with soft eyes and a softer smile. “Dude. Are you watching me sleep?” Sam asks with a small lopsided grin.

”I was. You’re beautiful… Even when you drool in your sleep.”

Sam smacks him on the arm. “You’re an ass,” he says with a laugh and grins in response to the radiant smile Tom gives him. 

”Maybe so kid, but _your_ ass is mine,” Tom replies impishly.

Sam chuckles. “I guess considering it’s friggin’ killin’ me right now.”

Tom laces his hand not supporting his head with Sam’s on top of his stomach. “Yes, I ripped you up quite badly I’m afraid.” He says it with a hint of regret but his smile is warm.

”It was exactly what I needed and asked for. I dunno what I would have done if you hadn’t come. The way I felt... I might have done something stupid…”

”How stupid?”

”We’ve got a lot of guns at home…”

”Yourself or your tormentor?”

”Me. Now I’m glad I didn’t. ‘Ts like you’re my own personal horcrux. I lost my soul today, but had a part of it stashed away in you apparently.”

”Mmmh. Makes sense. Demons are supposed to have tormented souls.” Tom smiles.

Sam laughs. “Oh my god! You _are_ an ass,” he says and rolls on top of Tom, kissing him. Then he sits up, straddling him. Tom draws his legs up, giving Sam a backrest.

Tom grins and strokes Sam’s thighs. “I tried once. Two days before my eighteenth birthday.” He holds out his arms towards Sam, showing his wrists. “You can barely see it now unless you’re looking for it.” He runs two fingers over a thin white scar along the vein, then switches to do the same on the other arm. He smiles broadly while he talks. Sam knows the smile. It’s the _smile-through-a-shitload-of-pain-_ smile. 

”Yeah? How’d you fail?”

Tom chuckles. “My parents were out of town. Came home a day early. Discovered me in the bathtub. When I woke up in the hospital I got two lectures. One from my dad about how suicide is a sin and one from my mum about how I had embarrassed the family.”

Sam scowls. “No offence, but your parents are dicks.”

”I admit, they won’t be winning any awards for parents of the year. So. How’d you fail?”

Sam makes a sturgeon face then grins. “So get this. I’m at home. My brother is who knows where and I really don’t want him to see me like that anyway. I have given up. I feel totally empty. Like there is no point to anything anymore. And no one wants me. Fuck, I’m so desperate I asked my tormentor to stay. I feel so broken and so fucking ashamed. I mean, how low could I get when his rejection fucking stung. Anyway. My brother had left his favourite gun on the table after cleaning it. So I get the impulse to end it all. Just be free, you know? So I sit there with the gun in my hand. I need help, I know that. If no one stops me… I stare at my phone. There’s no one I can call because everyone in my phonebook expects me to be strong. To be smart and mature. They all want me to be something I’m not. And they’d be disappointed to see me like this. Defeated. I needed someone who’d be physical with me but at the same time could be, I dunno. This is fucked up, but I wanted someone who could take control like Mi- my tormentor had, but go the whole way and wouldn’t reject me afterwards. There was only one number in my phonebook who could match what I needed. An old lover. But he is with his family and there is no way he’d pick up and let me ruin his life. And he is the wrong person to call. Or I am the wrong person to call him. I’ve already fucked him over too much. I dunno. I stare at his number until the screen goes black.” Sam’s voice has turned detached, like he is talking about someone else, and he is smiling. Tom’s eyes are teary and brimming with emotions, but he doesn’t say anything, just stroke Sam’s thighs up and down.

“I check the gun. It’s empty, so I get bullets, load it, and sit down again. I cock it and hold it under my chin, angling it upward so it’ll go through the brain. As I’m about to pull the trigger something the man who gave me the drugs said to me pops into my mind. He said ‘sometimes the wrong people are the right people for _you_ ’. So I think to myself, maybe _maybe_ I should give it a shot―pun intended―and call my lover anyway, even if it’d be wrong. If he doesn’t pick up I’ll pull the trigger, if he rejects me I’ll pull the trigger. So I reach for my phone, hit dial and close my eyes. Gun still held under my chin… He p-picks up a-at s-s-second ring…” Sam’s voice starts faltering, the smile on his face wobbles. “I.. I only s-say his name and… and he i-instantly kno-knows something is wrong… _Fuck_.” For the second time within a day Sam crumbles to pieces, shatters and breaks down crying. But this time he is caught, cradled into a broad chest, held tight and safe. This is not the first time Tom has seen him cry like this. Or held him through it. But then it had been due to a nightmare, not due to him almost killing himself. Tom coos sweet nothingness in his ear. But no. It’s not nothingness. It’s confessions of love. Seventeen years of age separate them and is reduced to nothing. The feelings they share are real. Every time they are together Sam thinks there’s no place he’d rather be than in bed with Tom. 

Eventually Sam has cried himself dry. Tom stokes his hair. His cheek is wet too where it rests against Sam’s forehead. “Have you ever thought about it before? Or was this the first time?” he asks.

”I dunno. I… No. This is the first time. I’ve always felt like I don’t quite fit in, you know? And there’s always so much shit going on… But when there’s _no_ shit going on and I should be happy, I’m not. I get depressed and feel.. I dunno. It’s stupid and fucked up and I can’t explain it. I just don’t fit, you know?” Sam laces his fingers with Tom’s and look him in the eyes. Tom is a good listener. Always was. And fuck if Sam doesn’t fall in love with him every time they meet. Their circumstances are vastly different but they work. They shouldn’t, but it’s easy. They’ve only met a handful of times. It was only meant to be a one night stand. A thrill. Swerving into the forbidden and illegal by seducing a ridiculously hot older _married_ man. But one night was all it took to leave a lasting impression. Sam pour his heart out now. “I’ve got all these people who cares and I just feel like a burden. Like Dean. He may be a total dickhead sometimes but there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for me. Hasn’t done. He thinks I don’t know how much he gives up for me but I know. And I just feel like I keep letting him down. That he would be better off if I wasn’t around and he only had himself to think about. The worst thing is that I could leave him, but I don’t think he could leave me. If you asked me right now to run away with you I would. I know you won’t ask. But I’d go with you. And this in not the first time… I have this, I dunno, friend? Look. I always feel like I’m a piece of a puzzle in the wrong box. And this guy, he fits with me. Makes me feel like I belong. When I’m with him I feel whole, you know? Like, for real. But he doesn’t fit with the rest of my life and it’s like, super complicated…”

”Where was he tonight?” Tom asks.

”Out of town. Besides, I don’t have his number. He decides when... “ Sam frees his hand and waves it in a dismissive gesture before lacing his fingers back with Tom’s. “...It doesn’t matter. Anyway, there’s my uncle and my coach and they care too and I love them, but, I dunno, I feel somehow removed from them. I know they reach out for me but I don’t reach back. I don’t feel like I can. My friends from school and my teammates are cool an’ all. But they just feel like white noise to me.” Sam falls quiet and looks down on their interlaced hands. “And then there’s you,” he says after a beat. “This is supposed to be just sex, right? But it isn’t... At least not for me. With you… I still feel out of place, but… I dunno, ‘ts like it’s okay, you know? I’m off key but so are you and together it sounds good anyway, you know? I don’t have to pretend with you. I feel free. But I’m scared that…” Sam falls silent.

Tom strokes Sam’s bangs out of his face. “Scared of what Sam?”

Sam look up again. “Okay, so get this. I know every time we meet might be the last. I know that, alright? And that’s okay. It is. It hurts, but I get it. But… Every time we meet I’m afraid that you won’t want me anymore.”

Tom’s eyebrows draw down in a concerned frown. “Shit, Sam. Why would you think that? I’m crazy about you, I thought you got that?”

”Yeah but, I’m, I mean, I’m not sixteen anymore. I’ve already grown taller than you. With the way I’ve been filling out, I might turn broader than you. I won’t be a boy for much longer and then…” Sam makes a frustrated noise and rubs the back of his neck, looking down in his lap.

”Shit kid. Sam. Look at me.” Reluctantly, Sam does. “Sam, I will still want you when you’re forty, when your hairline is receding and your puppy dog look has etched permanent worry lines on your forehead. I will still want you even if you grow fat and floppy or thin and reedy because you don’t work out anymore. Yes, the sweet sixteen fantasy turns me on. But I fell for _Sam Winchester_ , not some random twink. I lost myself to you the moment you walked up to me by that bar.”

“I’m a homewrecker Tom. You should stay as far away from me as possible if you know what’s good for you.”

”Kid, I know what people consider to be good for me. I do my best to do what they want me to and live up to their expectations. But shit Sam, that’s not what makes me happy. My marriage is a sham. You should know that better than most people. With you I’m free. You don’t judge me, you don’t pressure me. You make me feel alive when I’m a walking dead man most of the time. If there was a way I could keep you without losing my kids I’d gladly make love to you on the funeral pyre of my marriage.” Tom leans in for a kiss. Soft lips interlock. Sam opens his mouth to let Tom taste. For a moment they get lost in gently exploring each others mouths. Tom’s kisses always feel intimate, unhurried, and syrupy. When they separate Tom touches the bruises on Sam’s torso. “You said it has been going on for years. Will you tell me about it?”

For a second Sam is about to say no. But he really, _really_ , wants to talk about it. “Do you promise not to tell a soul?”

”I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

”And you can’t interfere, okay? No going to the police or anything. You gotta promise! I want to talk about it. I do. But if you can’t promise, I can’t…”

”I won’t betray your trust, Sam,” Tom promises.

Sam lays down, dragging Tom down with him, and then scoots so he has his back to Tom’s chest. He don’t want Tom to see his face for this, but needs desperately to be held. Tom just obliges, providing one arm for as a pillow and holding him tight with the other. It still takes a while for Sam to muster courage to talk. “Um… Okay.. I was bullied in school when I was younger, before I got popular, and I could easily take that. But this guy is no ordinary bully. To start with he is ten years older than me. You’d never know by looking at him what a monster he really is… He is really good looking, charming, funny, smart… His best friend, who is also my… Um. That guy that makes me feel whole that I told you about? He warned me to stay away from this man. But then he approached me when I was fourteen and I was stupid enough to talk to him.” Sam falls silent. He shouldn’t tell anybody of this. If Tom can’t keep his mouth shut… But Sam is aching to not be totally alone in this, to get it off his chest. And Tom had promised. Plus Tom is good at keeping secrets. He’d done so all his life, hadn’t he?

Tom remains silent, kissing him on the knob of his spine, waiting for Sam to continue. “So get this, he’s in some kind of gang, alright? I think so anyway because he has some scary people working for him. In the beginning he was, I dunno, crueler. He’d mess me up more. But then one day he made me choose to come by free will. I was watching my brother practise when he came by. He had a sniper aiming at Dean and told me that if I didn’t come by free will he’d kill those I care about. So I followed him…” And like that the words came rushing. He told Tom about some of the things Michael had done to him, about how he wanted Sam to scream and cry, about how he praised and how much it scared Sam that he always looked so sympathetic and affectionate. How he would pet and coo, but not mock. How, if they were alone, Michael would hold him a while afterwards and place gentle kisses on his forehead while telling him how proud he was of Sam, how strong and good Sam was. He told him how Lucifer, despite sometimes being there helping Michael, would seek him out afterwards to help him. He didn’t mention any names, and didn’t tell Tom what he and Lucifer did, just that he helped him. He was pretty sure Tom cried at times, but he remained silent, holding him tight and just listened. Sam talked until his mouth was dry, and kept talking. Then he came to what had happened today. Told him how he had finally broken and about Michael’s incoherent ramblings about how he couldn’t because Sam wasn’t family, how he needed Sam to hate him. How he wasn’t allowed to worship Sam that way. He told Tom how desperate and heartbroken Michael had seemed before he choked Sam out and left.

Finally, he told Tom the worst thing. His voice nothing more than a hoarse whisper. A secret so dirty, filling him with so much _shame_ and self disgust at his own weakness. “Lately… lately I’ve begun to believe him. I’ve started to think that maybe… Maybe his affection isn’t faked, you know? Maybe he isn’t as good at acting as I thought. And when I started to think that… I… I… This is fucked up. I’m messed up. But I stopped feeling nauseated by his touch. I still felt violated and scared of the pain but…” Sam swallows a lump in his throat. “I uh… Look. He is a monster. But he’s _my_ monster and I started to feel good about what he said to me and… I started to want him to be pleased with me… If he hadn’t threatened my family… If he hadn’t threatened Dean… I dunno. I was almost at a point where I would have come to him anyway when he came for me. Knowing I’d be subjected to torture and humiliation… ‘ts like, he sees me totally broken, crying and begging. He sees me like the piece of trash I am and still he tells me I’m beautiful and perfect and good. And I kinda… I started to think that maybe I liked it. Liked him. I wanted it to end. I did. I _do_! It’s fucking horrible. But…” Sam’s eyes stings, he stubbornly blinks the tears out of his eyes and takes a few deep breaths to steady himself. “...intimate. Somehow. Pure. Aw shit. This is so fucked up.” Another deep breath, then he continues. If he is going to confess his sins he might as well confess it all. “I started imagine there was something between us. A kind of bond. And then… I thought I understood him. It hit me, that maybe we weren’t so different.”

”Remember Brady?” Sam doesn’t wait for an answer. “My best friend. We were close. He has moved now, but back when he was still here… He was in love with me. I knew that. And he was awesome. Wanted to become a cop despite his parents wanting him to be a doctor or lawyer or somethin’. I was a good friend to him most of the time. But when we had sex… I was a monster. I fucked him over so bad. I didn’t hurt him physically, just messed with his mind for no other reason than that he let me. I loved the power. I could drag him into a supply closet in school and have him blow me, then leave him hanging, sling my arm around a girl and give him a wink over the shoulder. Make us a dirty secret when we weren’t. When we fucked I’d call him slurs and he’d just accept it. I could see I hurt him with my behaviour sometimes, yet he just took it. He suffered for me and came back for more. Over and over and over. And when he was in pain I loved him. In the way he’d want me to, not just as a friend. When he suffered for me he was mine, and I was his. My feelings for him was never so strong as they were when he _allowed me_ to degrade him. I didn’t admit it to myself until I started to look at my own tormentor and believe his words and expressions. We’re the same him and me. And I can’t deal with that. I don’t want to be a monster! I want to be one of the good guys. I don’t want to feel this intimate connection to a monster. I want to hate him for what he does to me, not hate him for him not wanting me when I offer him the last shred of myself and give myself over. I’m a bad seed. And I can’t deal. I can’t. What’s the point of it all? Why do I have to be this way? Shit Tom. You saved my life today. I just don’t know if I was worth saving.”

Tom finally speaks up. ”From everything you’ve told me today I’d say the guy who gave you the drugs saved you with one simple sentence. I was just a consequence of that. But Sam… There’s a big difference between you and Brady and you and your tormentor that you yourself pointed out.” 

”Yeah? What’s that?”

”Brady was with you because he wanted it. You did not force him to do anything against his will, did you?”

Horrified by the very idea Sam turns around in Tom’s hold to look him in the eyes. “Of course not!”

Tom’s cheeks are wet and his eyes red, he had been crying from what Sam told him, but now he wore a small smile. “Me, at Brady’s age, would have longed for someone like you. Who saw beyond the perfect exterior. Who put me in the place I thought I deserved yet stayed by my side anyway. And shit, whatever is up with that asshole who is tormenting you, I’m willing to bet my life on the fact that he actually _does_ worship you and for one reason or another is prevented to show it any other way. Even if it’s messed up beyond belief. Sam. I have no idea what can be done about this. I’m appalled by the suffering you’ve been put through. But the thought of you ending your own life… I know I have no saying in the matter. And it’s silly how badly I have fallen for you. But the truth is this, I think of you every day. Some days I feel like my life is already over and those days I get through on the thought that maybe I’ll get to see you one more time. If you cease to exist…” Tom trembles on the last sentence, closes his eyes and draws a deep breath. “Don’t ever doubt your life is worth saving. That’s all I’m trying to say. If you ever find yourself with that gun in your hand again, don’t hesitate to call. I’ll come. I swear. No matter the consequences it may have to the rest of my life. Because it’d be so much worse if you died…”

”You don’t… you don’t think I’m a monster?” Sam asks hesitantly.

Tom barks a laugh and opens his eyes. “Kid, you’re asking a man who didn’t hesitate to jump into bed with a boy half his age. _A boy_. You were sixteen, Sam. I’m the monster in this, not you. The man who tortures you is a monster, not you. That friend of yours that helps him do it then takes care of you afterwards, he is a monster. We are all predators who want you to ourselves for one reason or another. Don’t doubt our sincerity of our emotions concerning you. But we are grown men, Sam. You’re a teenager and we take advantage of your curiosity and innocence. _We_ are the bad guys, not you.”

Sam feels his lips twitch into a smile. “Tom, _I_ seduced _you_ , not the other way around. You’re nothing like the dude that tortures me. To say that is just dumb.”

Tom cradles the back of his head and pulls him in for a soft kiss. “A different kind of monster, kid. It’s natural for you to go for what you want and try new things. That’s what you do when you’re young. Me? I should have said no. I’m old enough to know better. And you want to know something else? That slight mean streak of yours that you fret about?” He leans in so close his lips brush Sam’s ear and whispers “ _I’m crazy about it._ ”

A shiver runs down Sam’s spine. “Oh yeah?”

”Yeah, kid…” Tom kisses him just behind the ear and goosebumps rise all over Sam’s neck. “Remember how you sucked hickeys on my chest, to form the scarlet letter?”

”Yes.” Sam’s answer is a mere breath.

”I still think of that when I jerk off. Of the glint in your eye when you did it. You knew how much trouble it would cause me and it made you so hard…” Tom sucks a bruise on Sam’s neck and Sam’s brain switches gear totally, making him groan. “...I remember you draped on the sofa, stroking yourself, asking me to corrupt you, with the same glint in your eyes. Shit, kid, I get hard just thinking about it. You were the devil’s own asking me to sin, yet you were innocence incarnate on the same time.” Tom licks a slow stripe down Sam’s neck while at the same time reaching out to the bedstand to grab the bag with the last pill. He holds the pill to Sam’s lips, they open to let him put it in. “I’ve never wanted anything as much as I wanted you then. To pin you under me and obliterate that innocence. I gave my soul up to eternal damnation for a chance to do that. And you looked at me with that knowing glint in your eyes that told me you knew full well what the price I would pay was…” Tom kisses the pill out of Sam’s mouth. “And that made me want you even more…” Tom strokes Sam’s side down to cup his ass, leans back to kiss the pill back in his mouth. “You take such pleasure in punishing me for my sins yet you never judge me for it, and you leave me wanting more. You know how it makes me feel?”

”No.”

”Absolved.” That’s when the drug hit. This time it hits Sam all at once just like it had Tom last time. Spherical vision blurs to grey only leaving Tom in focus. That weird impression of shared feeling comes into full play and when Sam kisses Tom, shifting the pill back and forth until it’s melted, they both close their eyes accessing that elevated state of being one with everything. When they make love they keep looking and closing their eyes and that shifts the initial trip into something much more intimate, almost a religious experience. Sam is no longer part of the Universe, he is part of Tom. He and Tom _are_ the Universe. There’s nothing else in existence. _Absolved._

The comedown is gradual. They lie tangled together, sharing slow caresses and occasional tender kisses. Even after the trip has abated and Sam can feel every single painful ache in his body the feeling still remains. _Absolved._ He don’t want to die. He may be the devil’s own, but it’s okay. He made his confession, laid himself bare for Tom and was pardoned for it. He feels purified somehow.

”When do you have to get back?” Sam asks.

Tom grins. “A couple of hours ago.”

Sam snorts in amusement. Homewrecker indeed. But it’s Tom’s choice. “Stay with me another day?” He smirks while he asks. In his eyes, a dare. Possibly the very glint Tom was talking about. The tempter holding a bait leading down the road of destruction. 

Tom closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Okay, kid. I’ll stay one more day,” is what he says. When he opens his eyes he looks happy. _Absolved._

* * *


	19. Aaand ACTION!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha starts making Anna’s life very unpleasant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings for this chapter:**  
>  Mentions of rape.  
> Date rape drugs.

* * *

**2011**

* * *

Late March

Anna comes home and drops her keys on the dresser by the front door. She is stressed. In the kitchen she makes herself a sandwich and drops her school bag on the table. She digs out her English homework and sits down to write while she eats, throwing nervous glances at the kitchen clock. It’s hard to focus while the nervous butterflies are running rampant in her stomach. She gives up halfway, drinks juice straight out of the container and goes upstairs to take a shower. She dresses, changes clothes about a million times. In the end she settles for a tight white blouse, blue jeans, high heeled boots and a leather jacket. She puts on her makeup and fixes her long red hair. Time is running short but she is ready to go. She hurry downstairs and heads for the doors. Her keys are not on the dresser where she usually puts them. “Dammit!”. She distinctly remembers putting them there. Where else would she have put them? She backtracks what she did when she came home and goes to the kitchen. She can’t find them there. So she looks in the bathroom and in her bedroom. They’re nowhere to be found. She is getting desperate now as she is running late. One last look in the kitchen. She finds the keys under her homework, floods with relief. But there’s a gnawing feeling of unease lingering in her. She was sure she had looked there already. She runs to the car and drives off. It’s probably just stress.

* * *

”I’m sorry I’m late, traffic was a killer,” Anna smiles apologetically.

The woman purses her lips in dissatisfaction. “Punctuality is important, Miss Collins. We don’t like to have our time wasted. Here’s the script. I’m afraid we can’t give you much time to study it as you already squandered so much by being late.”

_Bitch._ Anna smiles. “I’ll be fine. Thanks for having me.” _Fucking keys. I must remember to put them on the dresser like I usually do so this doesn’t happen._ Anna reads the script as she ushered through a long hallway and into a room with a bunch of bored looking people are sitting. She introduces herself to the casting director, producer, someone whose role is unclear, and a cameraman who is going to tape the audition. Somebody asks for her headshot and resume and she hands it over. Her stomach is in knots and her mouth is dry but she makes sure to be all smiles and politeness.

She is asked to read her lines standing on a yellow line in the room. She does her best but messes up some lines since she didn’t have those extra minutes to prepare. It doesn’t matter. She thanks everybody including that horrid bitch that checked her in, then leaves. She feels relief that she got it done but has a sinking feeling she won’t get the role. _Fucking keys._

* * *

” _Hi honey! How’d it go?_ ”

”Catastrophe! I misplaced my keys and ran late so they were annoyed at me before I even got there. I don’t think I’ll get the part.”

” _Aww, honey. They’re fools if they don’t want you. Besides there’ll be other chances.”_

”Yeah yeah. I know. It still sucks though.”

” _Don’t worry about it. Meet up with the gang at the Wormhole tonight? We’ll cheer you up, okay?_ ”

”Yeah okay.”

” _Listen, I gotta run. See you there?_ ”

”Sure. Love you.”

” _Okay. Bye honey_.”

Anna sighs as the line goes dead. She had been dating Jake for a year now and he had still never said “I love you” back. And truth to be told she wasn’t really sure she did love him. The initial infatuation had died down a while back. But she liked him and they belonged to the same group of friends. It was convenient. Maybe it’d be different if he wasn’t so busy doing other stuff all the time. She just wanted him to long to be with _her_ like she had wanted to be with him before she started to get tired of waiting. Oh well. At least she’d get to see him tonight.

* * *

The Wormhole was the only place in Angel Falls with a dance floor worthy of it’s name. It looked like a small bar from the outside, which it was too, but one floor down they had a night club setting with blaring base and neon, playing techno. The bar above was leather, chrome and neon, trying to look classy when it wasn’t. This was Anna and her friends’ favourite place. Third drink in Anna feels better about the blotched audition. She feels her phone buzz in her jacket pocket. She fishes it up to see that she has gotten a text from Jake. “ _Sorry babe. Can’t make it tonight. Something came up. XOXO_ ”

”Jake is a no show,” she says with a grimace and a sting of disappointment.

”Yeah well then he’s the one missin’ out,” Mandy says and throws an arm around her waist. “Marcus bailed too.”

Lottie, Anna’s best friend, is sitting across from them by the round table. She grins impishly and leans forward conspiratorially. “You know what this means? It means this is a Girl’s Night Out!” The capital letters are audible in the way she says it. Both Anna and Mandy giggles. Lottie is short, round, has wild curly hair, dimples, and a perpetual cheery nature. She always sees stuff from the bright side. 

Anna raises her glass. “For Girl’s Night Out!” she toasts. Maybe this night won’t turn out so bad after all.

A couple of hours later Anna is definitely drunk. They had been joined by four guys. Mandy went downstairs to dance with one, Lottie had disappeared about thirty minutes ago with another. Now the two that are left are competing for her attention and it feels good. Jake can go screw himself. The taller guy has dark hair, darker eyes and dimples. When the blond guy plays with his phone the dark haired guy, Josh? puts an arm around her and asks her questions about her acting dreams. The blond guy (whatever his name is) goes to buy another round of drinks. Anna drinks and flirts. Whoozy and flattered she ends up making out with Josh while blond guy plays with his phone again. She feels increasingly woozy, sound starts getting warbly, and her eyelids heavy. She manages to get out something about needing to get home and tries to stand, but her body is too heavy. She thinks she is being carried but conscious is slipping. Then, nothing.

* * *

Sasha watches the screen in disgust. Oh he liked to watch, but not this. He was overseeing that the job was done correctly, that’s all. He had supplied the drug they used on her, making her totally out of it, not unconscious but not really aware. She wouldn’t remember a thing in the morning. Possibly not a comfort considering it was all taped. He’d preferred to watch her getting brutally beaten. There was just something unsavory about rape that left him feeling dirty and greasy. But it was means to an end. Soon Anna’s life would come crashing down on her.

He transmits the footage one of the pawns took earlier tonight by means of cell phone camera to be edited by one of the _Porodica_ -owned porn companies while he waits for the pawns to finish their job. He keeps an eye on the screen. Admittedly, the pawns are doing their job as described to them. No slurs, only endearments, no brute force, it has to look as if she is a somewhat willing participant. And it does. Those parts of the footage where she seems unwilling will be edited out once this is transmitted. Then the parts from the bar will be added, where she is flirting with the pawns and telling them of her dreams of becoming an actress. One of them had asked “If we were filmmakers, would you want to be in our movie?” Poor drunk Anna had answered “Of course!” and giggled adorably. By the time time it hits internet it will be so heavily edited it will look like she did it all by free will in hopes of furthering her acting dream. And poor Anael will fall from grace to land in Sasha’s arms. Sasha smiles to himself and rubs his pendant between thumb and forefinger.

* * *


	20. A smaller predator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha happens upon an incident that isn't part of the plan.

* * *

**2011**

* * *

Late March

Sasha slams on the break the moment he sees them and is out of the car the second it stops, adrenaline shooting skywards and righteous rage paired with acute worry coursing through his veins. Anna is standing by the ATM machine across the street, terrified, with her hands in the air. A young man with a mask and a hoodie with his back towards Sasha has a knife pressed against her throat from behind. It’s not hard to figure out she is being robbed, forced to withdraw money. Sasha’s afraid Anna will be hurt in the process.

The would-be robber doesn’t hear him coming. He grabs the wrist of the knife-hand and pushes forward and outward to the side to get the knife away from Anna’s throat. At the same time he hits the guy’s temple as hard as he can from this angle, gaining some extra momentum by following his other arm’s movement. The robber is sent flying straight into the corner of the ATM machine, dropping the knife in the process. Sasha keeps his grip on the man’s wrist firm, grabs his hood, pulling it over his eyes, then smashes his head repeatedly into the wall. It’s fast and brutal and the guy crumples to the ground, knocked out. He never even got to lay eyes on his attacker.

Anna is white as a sheet, lips almost blue. She stares at Sasha and the robber with wide eyes like her brain is not up to the task of coping with this. Sasha throws a glance at the ATM machine to confirm her card isn’t in the slot then grabs Anna’s wrist. “Come. Before he wakes up.” She lets him usher her back to his car and be seated in the passenger seat. He fishes up his cell from his pocket and calls Mikey while he gets into the car. He picks up on first ring. Sasha speaks Russian so Anna won’t understand what he’s saying. "Грабитель чуть не прикончил нашу цель. Если хочешь поиграться, он валяется без сознания у банкомата на Сосновая улица.” ( _A robber almost took our target out. He's unconscious by the ATM machine on Pine Street if you want a toy to play with._ ) He hangs up as soon as that’s said. Mikey can choose for himself what he wants to do with that info. He then turns to Anna, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Anna. Sorry you had to see that. Are you alright?” He makes his face and voice worried and sympathetic.

This jars her out of her stupor. “Oh my god! I almost died!” She slaps her hands over her mouth and her eyes begin to tear.

”It’s okay, Anna. You’re safe now. I’m taking you home, okay?” Anna nods and starts sobbing. She tries to hold tears back, but can’t. Sasha starts the car and drives off, as soon as they’re rolling he puts his hand back on her shoulder, rubs his thumb comfortingly back and forth. “It’s okay, Anna. You’re safe. You’re safe,” he coos. Anna covers her face with her hands and leans against him, him slinging his arm around her, hugging her shoulders. _Please little girl, don’t feel the gun holster under the jacket. I don’t want you to associate me with danger._ The robber was not a plant of his, just a stupid coincidence. A smaller predator hunting the same prey as he did. While this gave him another chance to play the hero, he was _not_ happy about it. He didn’t want Anna to see his dangerous sides _at all._ He wanted her to think of him as safe and nice. Seeing him bash a guy’s head into a wall didn’t play into that even if he’d already established the idea that he was an ex soldier. That only gave a lofty idea that he’d seen horrible things and possibly done them too. This? This made it graphic. He could explain away the guns he was wearing. He was working private security after all. He just hoped he didn’t have too.

Within minutes they’re by Anna’s house and he parks the car outside by the curb. “Anna, you’re home now. I don’t think you should be alone right now. Do you want me to come in or should I call someone?”

Anna straightens up and dries her tears. “Please, don’t go. I...” she trails off, not knowing what to say.

”I’ll stay awhile.” Good. He needed to talk to her about this. If she hadn’t asked he’d had to convince her he was the best option for company. “Come on, lets get you inside.” He gets out of the car, rounds it and opens the door for Anna. She fumbles with the seatbelt, still shook up, and gives him a wavering smile once she manages to get it loose. He holds out his hand for her to support herself with as she gets out and then guides her towards the house with a hand on her back. She unlocks the door and drops the keys on the dresser inside. Once she’s kicked her shoes off and hung up her jacket Sasha speaks again. “Come here,” he says and leads her to the living room, bidding her to sit down on the couch. She does and he grabs a blanket and drapes it around her shoulders. “Wait here. I’ll go make some tea. I’ll just be a minute. Have to go lock my car too, okay?” She looks at him with those big eyes of hers and nods in acquiescence.

He hurries to the kitchen, puts on a kettle of water and prepares a mug with a teabag. He’s familiar with where everything is in the kitchen by now. If Anna asks why he’ll just have to point out that most kitchens are arranged the same. He can hardly tell her that he’s been here often already, prepping some of her food and drink with a substance that will slowly lead to her death, now can he? Which reminds him. He pours a glass of juice for her and goes back to the living room. “Here. Drink this. It’ll be good for you.” She just nods again and complies.

He goes out to his car, sits down in it and hastily removes his jacket and holster. He puts the holster in the glove compartment and puts his jacket back on. He sends a text message to one of the pawns involved with making the movie. “ _Postpone the release of the video until I tell you._ ” It was scheduled to be released at midnight but in light of tonight's events it was better to wait. He gets out, locks the car, and goes back to the house. The water is boiling when he comes back so he prepares the tea and takes it to Anna. Then he sits down next to her. “You okay?”

She holds the warm mug of tea in her hands without drinking and looks up at him. “You saved my life. I don’t know how to thank you.”

Sasha makes a dismissive gesture and smiles at her. “You don’t have to thank me. That was just instinct. When I saw you… I got very frightened. I’m sorry it happened the way it did but I’m glad you’re alright.”

”Shouldn’t we call the police?”

Good. This was what he wanted to talk to her about. He cringes and makes sure he looks uncomfortable. “We can. ...If you wish.”

”You don’t think we should?” she asks with surprise and tilts her head in the way that reminds about how Castiel used to do it except her eyes are big and innocent.

He rubs a hand over his face and then puts a hand on her shoulder, looking at her earnestly. “Anna. Listen to me. You have to decide for yourself since you were the one who fell victim to a crime. But no. I don’t want you to call the police. But my reason for that is selfish.”

”How do you mean?”

”It will get me in trouble,” he says simply. In the face of her confused expression he elaborates. “I may go to jail for what I did to your robber.”

”But you saved me!”

He draws a deep breath. He won’t even have to lie much for this. “How to explain it? With my military background and my profession it would have been possible for me to avert the threat with a lot less violence. I could have…” He rubs her back and shifts uncomfortably. “Look, I reacted rather than acted when I saw what was going on. I like you a lot and got scared so I used much more force than necessary. The robber may have sustained permanent damages. Even if he didn’t… He may counter sue and then my background will be held against me. Military and law enforcement personnel often get judged more harshly in self-defence cases based solely on the fact that we should know better with our training. That we are just humans who reacts like other humans is not taken into account. So if the police gets involved in this…” He shrugs. “Even if I get off the hook I can still lose my job over this. So you see why I don’t want you to call the police. It’s up to you. I only ask that you tell me so I can go lawyer up if you do call.” He gives her an apologetic smile.

”That’s not fair.”

He shrugs. “Depends on who’s side you’re looking from. Had you been a stranger to me I would have disarmed the man with a minimum of violence and held him down until the cops came. I could have, had I not been emotionally invested.” He chuckles. “Add to that that I’m an ex _Russian_ military and the odds aren’t exactly in my favour right now,” he says with a self deprecating smile.

”You’re a friggin hero. It’d be a truly bad way to thank you to call the cops I guess.” Anna gives him a little smile, blows on the tea and sips it, still looking at him.

”Thank you.” Sasha gives her a grateful smile and removes his hand from her back now that she is calmer. “How do you feel now?”

”Shaken, scared shitless I guess.” Anna smiles ruefully. “You don’t think stuff like that’s gonna happen to you, you know? It’s just something that happens to others, not yourself.”

”What happened?”

”He came from nowhere just when I went up to the ATM machine to do a withdrawal. Told me he’d slit my throat if I screamed. Told me to withdraw all my money for him. I barely had time to get what was happening before you showed up. Stuff like this isn’t supposed to happen in Angel Falls. In big cities perhaps. Or in Freeville even. But not _here_.”

Sasha stays with Anna, talking, until late that night. She recuperates quite fast despite what happened and he admires her for it. At 1:30 AM he leaves her with a hug and an order to get some sleep. He calls Michael as soon as he gets the car rolling.

”Hey Aleksandr! My man. That was one feisty present you gave me. Once he came out of his stupor that is.” Michael chuckles. “Say, Luci just kicked me out to take care of my blood fever. I’m on my way to pick up a girl or two in the city. Feel like joining?”

”I don’t know. I’m tired.”

”Oh come now, Aleksandr. Drinks on me. And if you don’t feel like fucking,... You said you like to watch, right? You’re welcome to it. Or join in if you like. I’d like the company either way,” Michael coaxes. 

Sasha sucks on his lower lip while thinking. It’s late. But then again, it’s a good offer and he can sleep tomorrow. Partying with a Бог брат is not a wise move. The risk of getting too close, especially to Mikey who he already has a quite close bond to, is downright stupid. In the end Sasha’s wish for good company wins over wisdom. “Alright. I’m on my way. Where to?” he asks and turns off towards the highway leading to the city.

* * *


	21. April Fools Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> April 1st. Sasha's night out with Michael gets a bit out of hand and leaves Sasha a bit unsettled. Sasha runs into trouble with the law.

* * *

**2011**

* * *

April fools Day

If there’s one thing more disconcerting than waking up in a king size bed that doesn’t belong to you, while being spooned by a strange woman and sporting one hell of a hangover―it’s waking up like that but with a second hand slung around your waist alongside the woman’s arm, a hand belonging to your male boss. Sasha groans and rolls over to his back only to find Michael awake, spooning the woman currently spooning Sasha and watching Sasha with an unreadable expression. It’s downright disturbing. _Rule number ONE: Do **not** get too close to a _ Бог брат _, ever._ How many times had he not hammered that into recruits? So what does he do? He goes out with a Бог брат, gets hammered and allows himself to be coaxed into watching. He should have settled for that. But he was smashed, having a good time (a great time even), and Mikey had pulled out all the stops when it came to using his charms to get Sasha to participate. Even _knowing_ one was being manipulated it was hard to resist Michael when he switched on his charm. In his intoxicated state Sasha hadn’t stood a chance. So now he could add threesome to his list of sexual adventures. It was a small blessing Mikey hadn’t tried on purpose to do anything to Sasha. The accidental grazes didn’t count. It was to be expected when two guys fucks the same woman.

Sasha thinks that there are things you shouldn’t know about a Бог брат from personal experience. Like that Mikey was bossy in bed. He gave as many instructions to the woman as he did Sasha. Or that he was a real dirty talker but didn’t use derogatory terms―he was all about praise. The woman was not a whore, just a free spirited woman that had flirted with the both of them. Contrary to what Mikey’s sadistic tendencies led you to believe he’d been a very generous lover, making a point of seeing to the woman’s pleasure. That could of course just be one of his manipulative viles coming to play as he’d been adamant that Sasha would join them and knew of his aversion towards rape. Either way it was clear that Mikey enjoyed sex more as a group activity. 

A couple of years ago Sasha would never have fallen prey to this invitation. Maybe he was getting old? Or maybe it was that feeling of loneliness that had started to sneak up on him more often lately. Whatever had caused this slip, it wasn’t good. “This can’t happen again,” Sasha says tiredly. 

”Mmmh,” Michael answers non-committally. “Go back to sleep Aleksandr. A few more hours.”

Sasha grunts and eases himself out of bed. He goes to the bathroom to relieve himself, comes back into the room, digs out an aspirin out of his jar of ‘goodies’ and swallows it down with a lot of water. Noting that Michael is still watching him silently with a blank expression he puts on underwear and a tee self-consciously. He’s generally not bothered by being naked, but this situation is making it awkward. After a minute of deliberating with himself, the headache and nausea from the hangover wins out and he crawls back into bed. This time with a little more distance between himself and his two companions and with his back turned. It doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep again.

The next time he wakes up it’s almost noon. The woman is gone and Mikey is up and dressed, pacing in the room and talking on the phone. He’s yammering away in Spanish or Portuguese or something. Languages in which Sasha’s skills are rudimentary at best. He stops trying to listen and sits up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. It’s distressing that he could sleep so deeply that all this activity didn’t wake him up. Whatever happened with sleeping with one eye open? Mikey gestures towards a breakfast tray on the desk by the wall when he notices Sasha is awake, but keeps walking back and forth while doing occasional hand gestures to accentuate what he’s saying. It’s thoughtful, after all―Sasha is the servant who's supposed to see to Michael’s needs. 

Sasha gets up and goes to fetch the tray. He eats in bed. It’s a bit of a chore in his state and the coffee is tepid, but he feels better afterwards. Michael hangs up and turns to face him. "The toy you gave me is still in my trunk. I want you to take care of that for me today." Sasha nods in acquiescence and Mikey goes on. "You’re releasing the video tonight?" 

”Yes, Sir." Sasha makes a point of using the title to regain some distance between them. "It’s not ideal after what happened yesterday but it'll have to do."

”It won't be a problem. I'm up to date. The robber told me his side after some _gentle_ persuasion. And I checked the conversation you and Anna had." He indicates the laptop currently on the nightstand as an explanation of how. "Tomorrow Anna will have a nasty surprise waiting for her when she comes to school. A good way of testing friendship, huh? ” 

Sasha snorts. “Maybe they'll surprise us," he says, but his demeanor reveal that he doesn't believe it. 

Michael studies him quietly with a tiny smile. ”You feel sorry for her," he says at last with an amused and curious voice. 

"I do. She is a sweet girl."

”Having second thoughts?” 

Sasha gives him an insulted look. “You overestimate my concern for her wellbeing. Life is not fair and people get crushed by it, but I resent the rabble who put themselves above others, claiming to be pure and noble yet are just as cruel as us. At least we do not act as if we aren't responsible for the so called evil we do. They pretend to be above that and do worse in the name of _justice_ and _morality._ " He practically spits out the last words. He almost hoped he was wrong about what would happen when Anna showed up at school. Just to be proven wrong about people in general. He was rarely wrong though. If it was one thing you could rely on, it was the cruelty of a mob. "We at least know who the enemy is."

”And who's the enemy?" Michael asks with barely contained laughter at Sasha’s little rant.

”Everyone."

Michael laughs. He sits down crosslegged on the bottom of the bed. "You’re a complicated man, Aleksandr. One of the most contradictory Croats I've worked with."

Sasha refrains from answering, it's bullshit, he's a simple man. Instead he just quirks an eyebrow at Michael. 

Michael takes that as a prompt to explain himself which is alarming. It’s a testament of how their relationship has started to become too casual and personal. A Бог брат doesn’t explain himself to a Croatoan. "You’re disillusioned and jaded. You don’t believe in people. But at the same time you genuinely like people and sympathise. Despite that you still don't hesitate to harm or kill. In fact, you enjoy it. You can torture without batting an eyelash but you’re squeamish about rape. Plus, you have an idealistic streak that I find interesting.”

What? ” _Ideali_ ―” Sasha starts to ask dubiously but breaks himself off and makes a dismissive hand gesture. He can’t even fathom what made Michael come to such a conclusion, but he doesn’t want to know. He’s no philosopher and has no wish to let Mikey psychoanalyze him. “I don’t _like_ people.” (He does, so sue him.) “I put up with people.” In an attempt to backtrack into professional boundaries he yet again adds “Sir.” Lines were already too blurred and at times he had to remind himself that Michael was his superior and not his colleague.

A slight narrowing of Michael’s eyes broadcasts to Sasha that Mikey isn’t pleased with him slamming walls back up. It’s just there for a fraction of a second, for the rest his deportment remains casually friendly and curious. “Yes you do that too. You get along with everybody.” He’s fishing for something. Sasha can’t figure out what, but whatever it is―it isn’t good. Not when he tries to get Sasha to talk about himself like this. He suddenly feels terribly exposed and sets the tray aside, gets out of the bed and quickly puts his jeans, overshirt, socks and boots on. Then he turns around to face Michael, feet apart and hands behind his back like a soldier at ease. Michael is watching him with sharp eyes and his lips pursed. He looks about to say something.

Sasha forestalls him. “Бог брат?” Two words. With two simple words he slides himself in place far beneath Michael’s station. Erases any dangerous familiarity gained during the night and awaits the verdict for if that move is accepted or not. 

Michael bends his head with a faint humourless smile that fades quickly and studies his nails. He runs his tongue over his teeth with his lips closed, contemplating. When he looks up he too has put on the mask of professionalism. Sasha wants to sigh in relief as Michael rattles off a list of instructions, then gets off the bed to make a phone call to Babyface in Russia. Whatever he was fishing for earlier, he had dropped it and Sasha is grateful. 

* * *

In the car later Sasha is a bit distracted thinking over what happened. The working situation as it is between him and Michael is rare. Michael was bored out of his mind here and sought Sasha’s company to do jobs that was far beneath his station and more often than not beneath Sasha’s too. It had been almost a month since Michael found Sasha’s work in the basement and adopted the Anna-project as his own but left Sasha in charge of it. He’d stop by every day unless he was out of town for an away game, in which case he’d call to get a report. It was the boredom rather than distrust that made Michael want reports. Sometimes he’d just pop in for a couple of minutes, sometimes Sasha would come home to find Michael sitting in the basement, using it as an office while doing other work. Michael―Sasha had discovered―had _no_ downtime. Any downtime had been spent with Lucifer but since their interests were vastly different and Mikey didn’t want to be a killjoy he’d latched on to Sasha instead of forcing his little brother to do stuff he didn’t want to. Sasha had also figured out, by keeping his eyes and ears open, that Mikey hid from Lucifer how much contact he had with the rest of his brothers. How much work he really did. Sasha wondered if he slept much. Or at all. 

Their working relationship made for strange dynamics that kept shifting between casual and professional, between equals and superior to subordinate. They’d shared more than one “after work” beer in the basement and gone off the record, discussing non-work related things. This is where the danger lay. The knife’s edge. Sasha was way too comfortable in Mikey’s company. A Бог брат and a Croatoan rarely worked this close together and never for extended periods at a time. The exception was those who taught at the Heart and that’s what messed things up. Michael―Sasha suspected―still saw in him the man that had taught him, kept his secrets, and played with him as a child. Very much in the same way Sasha still saw the boy he’d given piggy back rides to and played ball with. Add to that, that Lucifer had no interests in the affairs of the _Porodica_ it made the two of them the only physical persons here who knew what they really were and what they were doing. They didn’t have to guard their tongues much around each other. They still did of course. But at times… At times Sasha had started to feel like Michael was becoming more like a friend and a colleague than a Бог брат. Yesterday should never had happened. It was one thing to share a beer or two in front of the monitors. It was a whole other ball game to go out partying and end up in the same bed. _That_ was dangerous for Sasha.

He wasn’t sure what that odd conversation earlier had been about. Another one of Mikey’s tests? Sasha fucking hoped so. The alternative was that Mikey too was struggling to keep the lines from blurring too much and Sasha would be here for months. No, Sasha decided. It was one of Michael’s tests, mind games. “I’m too old for this shit,” he mutters to himself and huffs in self-deprecating amusement. He has a body in the trunk to dispose of and that’s what he _should_ be focusing on. Yesterday’s robber had learned the hard way that ‘knife play’ wasn’t necessarily a sex kink. Quite a fitting punishment for attacking Anna with a knife. Better up, Mikey had told him as they transferred the corpse between their cars that he’d used the robber’s own knife. Talk about bad karma for the robber.

Sasha passes a sliproad and a red Toyota Corolla coming onto the highway doesn’t bother heeding the stop sign and rear-ends Sasha’s car, jarring him in his seat. It’s just a graze thankfully but the other car speeds away while Sasha utters a string of curses in Russian and drives to the side of the road. He stops the car and gets out to check the damage. It’s just a small bump and a broken taillight, but it’s enough to set off another string of curses. Talk about bad fucking karma. He tests the trunk to see that the lock hasn’t been damaged. The last thing he needs is for it to pop open while he’s driving with a body in it. Luckily it’s fine. He gets back in the car with an annoyed huff.

* * *

Somebody has it out for him today he thinks as the police car blares and flashes its lights behind him, indicating for him to stop five minutes later. It strikes him that it’s April’s fools day as he yet again drives in towards the side of the road and stops the car. His lips twitch in humourless amusement and he takes forth his registration papers from the glove compartment, along with his driver’s licence from his wallet. He makes sure his jacket is fully closed so his holster doesn’t show and rolls his window down. Then he sits back calmly and waits with his hands on the wheel while the police car parks behind him. He watches in the rearview mirror as the lone female officer gets out of the car and walks up to him, hand casually rested on the gun in her belt. An attractive lady in her late thirties, hair pulled back in a ponytail.

Sasha never understood why they let cops work the traffic gig alone. It’s dangerous business stopping cars. You never knew who you’d find. A soccer mom with anger issues, a gang of jacked up crack heads, a hitman with a corpse in the trunk… it almost makes him smile. He keeps his facial features neutral though. She looks into his car as she passes, takes stock of the interior, before she’s alongside his side window. She gives him a sharp-eyed once over full of intelligence. She has a no-nonsense aura about her. This is not her first day at the job. He reads her name tag. Officer J. Mills. He finds her beautiful. Not that _that_ is the top priority right now.

”Licence and registration, please.”

He hands the documents over, puts his hands back on the wheel where she can see them and looks at her, waiting, while she looks them over, eyes flipping from his license to him and back. He keeps his posture relaxed and his face neutrally friendly, like he has nothing to fear. His pulse is elevated.

”Alright mr. Krushnic. Wait here while I check this out.” She holds his documents up to indicate her intentions.

”Of course, Officer,” he answers and gives her a polite close-lipped smile.

She gives him a curt nod and walks back to her car to check his identity and registration papers out. The identity is masterfully fabricated so he’s not worried about that. However, it’d take any small mistake to make her ask him to step out of the car and pat him down and if she does he’s toast. There’s a risk that she called in the car plates of this car before he was pulled over just to check that it wasn’t stolen. This is a rental he rented with his current cover ID so there would be a trail leading back to him should he try to get away. As bothersome as it would be getting arrested for first degree murder right now, it was the best option if push came to shove. To just go along without resistance and then let the Croatoan security system get him out.

Sasha oddly enough liked cops in general. In their own way they lived in the same world as Sasha did, getting to see the worst sides of mankind. Black and blue were different shades on the same scale. Only many cops got into their job because they wanted to help people, not from greed. Sasha could respect that. Maybe Mikey was right and he had an idealistic streak? If he did, it was a very thin one. Definitely nothing to perturb him from _his_ chosen career.

Officer Mills comes back and hands him his documents. “Everythings seems to be in order. You know why I pulled you over, right? Mr. Krushnic?” she ask.

Sasha shakes his head with a rueful smile. “I honestly have no idea, Officer Mills.” Should he admit to knowing there’d be a shitload of follow up questions. Hit and run accidents were deemed serious business in most states.

He can see her sizing him up, discerning whether or not he’s lying. He keeps his face open and friendly. A taillight is a small thing. But it’s enough to trigger an inspection of the rest of the car if he’s unlucky. Officially just to check if he’s got a warning triangle or whatever. But in reality searching for drugs or other incriminating stuff. Like a dead body for an instance. ”You’ve got a busted taillight.”

Sasha raises his eyebrows in surprise, shifts his expression to annoyed concern. “I didn’t know. Checked the car over this morning but I’ve done a few errands since. Which side?”

”Left.”

”Thank you for letting me know.” He gives her a smile that both conveys gratitude and a hint of annoyance. “Do you mind if I get out to check the damage?”

Officer Mills steps away from the car, hand rested on her gun, alert. But her demeanor is politely friendly, if guarded. Cautious. He really likes her. She’s a far cry from the sweet but naive Anna. “Go ahead,” she says.

”Thank you, Officer.” He smiles a genuine smile at her, removes the keys from the ignition and places them on the roof of the car through the window. His whole game is to make her relaxed now. He opens the door. He moves easily, slow enough for her to be able to follow his every move, keeping hands visible. He throws her a look then rounds the car. She follows him, keeping her distance. _Good girl._ Armed or not, had she stood too close he could have taken her out in one quick attack. He bends down and inspects the broken taillight. Allows irritation to show on his face as he stands up. Then he turns towards her while nodding to himself. “Seems only the red lens is broken. I will get it fixed as soon as I get back to town.” He gives her a rueful smile again and leans against the trunk casually. “Glad you made me aware. How much is this ticket going to cost me?” He tilts his head, his smile turning tired and defeated.

She looks at him for a beat, appraising. Her eyes are beautiful, brown. He sees the shift in them before her posture shifts. “I tell you what. I’ll let you off the hook if you promise to get it fixed at once.” This time she smiles, more relaxed but still professional.

His responding smile is big and warm and he perks up his posture. “Thank you, Officer. I will.” 

”Have a good day, Sir,” she responds.

”You too.” He takes the dismissal for what it is, relieved, and with a nod walks around the car. He takes the keys from the roof and starts opening the door, hearing her walk back towards her car. _Oh what the hell._

“Officer Mills,” he calls out and turns back towards her. She stops and turns, eyebrows raised in question. “I was wondering…” he runs a hand through his hair, feining slight embarrassment and self-consciousness. “Now when it wouldn’t be considered trying to bribe you any more.” He looks down on the ground bashfully, then up from under his lashes and grins. “Would you like to have dinner with me someday?” At her surprised expression he hastens to add “Or just a coffee if you’d prefer?” An amused smile spreads on her face and he stands up straighter holding his arms out from his body by the hips, palms towards her, grin turning cocky. “Can’t blame a guy for trying, right?” he says with humour, but hoping his eyes conveys insecurity. _Look at me beautiful lady. All big alpha-bluster but a shy puppy underneath. Am I not endearing?_ Officer Mills is still not responding but her smile has grown. Semi-sceptical amusement. Well, well. “Look,” he takes up his wallet and digs out a business card, approaching her. “Just think about it,” he says and hands her his card. She takes it, which counts for a win. “And call me. Or don’t.” He shrugs, smiling. Runs a hand through his hair again. _Look how nervous I am about asking you out. Big strong man like myself and you making me all awkward. Am I not cute?_

She studies his card and looks up with a raised eyebrow. “Security consultant, huh?”

”Yes, Officer. Since my retirement from the military.” He lets pride and confidence bleed into his voice and bearing.

”Uh-huh. Alright. I’ll think about it,” she says holding up his card.

”Great! I mean… That’s all I’m asking.” He grins, gives her a salute and turns back towards his car, walking with his head bent as if he’s embarrassed but puts a spring in his step. When he opens his car door he looks back to see Officer Mills still looking at him with a little smile. He plays up boyishness. He knows his looks are far from boyish so shy awkwardness tend to work well. He gives her a last grin and an awkward wave and gets into the car.

* * *

He’s in the woods digging a grave when the phone rings. He wipes sweat from his brow while he digs his phone from the pocket. “Dmitri Krushnic speaking.”

”Hi, this is Officer Jody Mills. I’ve thought about it.”

Sasha stretches and smirks self-satisfied. “Really? So what’s the verdict?”

”Well, Cowboy. I get off at 7 and I bound to be hungry. Care to remedy that?” she says and he can hear a cocky smile in her voice. He likes it.

”I’d like nothing better, Officer Mills.”

”Call me Jody.”

They talk for a couple more minutes, sorting out details of when and where. He feels very smug when he hangs up. _And the Oscar goes to…_

* * *


	22. Who'll Catch Me When I Fall?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anna comes to school to find that something is very, very, wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings for this chapter:**  
>  \- Slurs  
> \- Bullying  
> \- Sexual harassment  
> \- If you need me to add additional warnings, please tell me.
> 
>  **Notes:**  
>  Samsung Galaxy S2 was released in May 2011. _Buuut_ since this is an AU it was released a bit earlier in this Universe. I'm the Creator and the universe bends to my will. ^^'  
>  Also, IRL 2nd 2011 was a Saturday, hence no school. I forgot to check that out so let's just pretend it's a Monday shall we?

* * *

**2011**

* * *

April the 2nd - Monday

It’s a fluke that has Anna waking up on time. She had remembered to charge her phone but apparently she hadn’t not attached the cord well enough so her phone is dead, hence no alarm ringing. She gets up, makes herself ready for school, and gets in the car, plugging in the charger there. It’s not much time to get the phone going but it’ll do. She’s running a bit late and and arrives at first warning bell.

She can’t spot any of her friends while hurrying over the schoolyard and in. They’re probably already in their classrooms anyway. She’s got her books for the first lessons in her bag so she skips going to her locker. She’s so stressed she doesn’t notice how people stare at her or hear the muted whispers that fall silent when she nears. She makes it to class before the teacher and final bell and drops into her seat, relieved. The rest of the class is already there and it’s oddly silent. She looks around and smiles yet no one returns the smile. They’re all staring at her. Everyone save from her friends who does their best avoiding eye contact. Something is wrong. Some guys in the back of the classroom whispers something and snigger. Heat rises on Anna’s face and she turns around and scowls at them, heart beating faster. “ _What_?” she demands testily.

One of the guys, Rick―a regular troublemaker that never has bothered Anna before―gives her a searing once over with a contemptuous smirk. “Why don’t you give me a blowjob, Lovelace? I know you like that,” he says and grabs his crotch under the desk, thrusting it obscenely to punctuate.

The guy next to him, Joe, chimes in “Yeah. You can do me next.” Then they high five, laughing. Scattered sniggers are heard around the classroom.

”Fuck you!” Anna retorts and turns her back to them again. _What the hell is going on?_ Her friends are still not looking at her. Her stomach twists in worry. Then the teacher comes in. She gives Anna a concerned look but starts up the lesson. Anna tries to focus on what she’s saying but can’t. Any time she glances at her classmates she either gets scornful looks, sniggers or turned heads, eyes that refuse to meet hers. By the time the bell rings Anna shoots out of her desk and heads for the door in near panic. She hears the teacher call her name but doesn’t stop. She just wants to find Lottie and Mandy or Jake. Find out what’s going on.

Now that’s she’s aware she can’t miss the looks she’s given by the people in the corridor. Disgusted. Amused. Scornful. Full of disdain. That, combined with blatant once overs, leers, boys making lewd gestures at her. _What did I do? What’s going on?_ It feels like everybody is watching. Pointing. Somebody walks into her shoulder and gives her a cold look without apologizing. She hurries to her locker, hoping Lottie will be waiting for her there. Her heart is beating frantically now. She’s getting very afraid and confused.

Lottie is not waiting by the locker, but a nasty surprise is. Somebody has scratched the word “slut” in the paint on her locker. Someone else has written “ **WHORE** ” with big red letters. Anna wants to throw up. Feels bile rising. She opens the locker and quickly exchanges books for the ones she had to the ones she needs for the next lesson. She slams the locker closed and hurries outside. Finally she spots Lottie, she’s standing alone under ‘their’ tree, smoking. Anna almost sags with relief and runs up to her. She’s standing with her back towards Anna. Anna grabs her shoulder. “Lottie!”

That’s all she gets out before Lottie jerks away from her grasp and spins around. “ _Don’t touch me_!” Her eyes, red as if she’s been crying, are narrowed to mere slits and full of venom. “How _could_ you, Anna?”

Anna takes a shocked step away from her by the sheer vitriol in her tone. “Could what?”

”Oh no. There’s no use pretending. I saw it. _Everybody_ has seen it! So don’t come here and pretend to be Sandra Dee. We’re supposed to be friends!”

Anna’s mind is reeling. She’s so confused she doesn’t know what to do or think. “I don’t understand―”

”You _know_ I’m in love with Jake! I’ve always been. But since you are supposed to be my best friend I’ve never put a finger inbetween. But then you go and _cheat on him_ , and for what? To become an _actress_? I never thought you’d stoop so low. I thought you were better than that.”

”I’ve never cheated on Jake!” Anna feels indignant anger rise at the false accusation. There’s some very vague memory of kissing another guy on their night out when she was drunk, but it’s not enough to deserve this kind of treatment.

Lottie’s face twists into a mask of disappointed contempt and she squashes the cig with the sole of her shoe. “You can go fuck yourself. Stay away from me, you hear me? I want nothing to do with you!” Then she pushes past Anna and walks back to the school. 

Anna’s eyes are burning, tears threatening to spill. It’s hard to tell if it’s because of anger, fear, confusion or _hurt_. Because it’s always been her and Lottie. And this hurts like hell and she doesn’t get why it’s happening. 

* * *

The answers comes later, during the lunch break. Anna manages to find Mandy by the toilets. Mandy looks around nervously when Anna approaches, like she doesn’t want to be seen with her, but her eyes are sad and worried. “Mandy, where were you? I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Mandy gives Anna a look full of regret, looks around again, sees a bunch of kids looking their way and grabs Anna by the arm, dragging her into the toilet and locking the door behind them. “I’m sorry, Anna. I tried to defend you but then a bunch of guys from my chemistry class started picking on me, wondering if I too had done it and… I’m sorry.”

”I don’t understand, Mandy. What’s happening?”

”You don’t know?”

” _No._ I came to school today and everyone was staring, and calling me names and I don’t understand what’s happening!” Anna feels her eyes begin to tear up again.

”The video has spread.” Mandy’s eyes reflect Anna’s sadness. She at least isn’t mad at Anna.

”What video?”

”The video of you and the two guys.”

” _What_ video?”

Mandy seems surprised. “You really don’t know?”

Anna shakes her head miserably.

Mandy takes her phone out, fiddles with it and holds it out for Anna to take. “I sent you a text, warning you. But you never replied.”

”My phone was dead,” Anna replies and takes Mandy’s phone. She hadn’t switched on hers yet. She should have. There’s a message with a link that Anna clicks. It leads to a video. Of _her_. She stares in shock. She recognises the guys from the bar. They’re asking her questions about her acting dreams. She vaguely remembers that. Then she’s making out with one of the guys. She _barely_ remembers that. She definitely doesn’t remember making out so hot and heavy. Then she’s kissing the other guy too. Then… “ _Oh my god_!” 

Mandy is watching her with concern written all over her. “I don’t want to judge you for what you do or anything but people have been really mean to me for being your friend and I…”

“Oh my god,” Anna repeats going cold all over, unwilling to comprehend. She looks at Mandy with terrified eyes. “I don’t remember any of this…”

Mandy looks somewhere between horrified and sceptic. ”It gets worse. I couldn’t watch all of it. I’m sorry Anna.”

Anna is not responding. She is staring unseeing at the screen. Too shocked to process. Everything that has happened today suddenly makes sense. Earlier when she had hurried through the corridor someone had stuck their leg out, tripping her. She landed on her hands and knees and somebody had made a crude remark about her place being on all fours. People had laughed. She had been pinched in the ass multiple times. Girls she didn’t know had said mean things to her out of the blue. Everybody had seen this. _Everybody._ Except her. It terrifies her that she doesn’t remember this. Scares her more deeply than being threatened with a knife had. She feels strangely disconnected. On the screen she is having sex with two guys at once. It’s like seeing someone else. And while she looks somewhat out of it she seems to be enjoying herself. Could she really have agreed to that? She can’t imagine she would. It’s unthinkable. But she doesn’t _remember_. Mandy is saying something that Anna doesn’t hear. She hardly notices the phone being plucked from her hands. Her pulse is beating so hard in her ears she doesn’t hear anything else. Suddenly it all washes over her and her stomach turns, she’s turned cold and clammy with sweat. She’s on the ground heaving bile into the toilet. Wave upon wave while she’s crying. She can’t seem to stop. She’s shaking. She just wants it all to go away. _Make it stop. Make it stop. This isn’t happening. Make it stop_. Mandy is gone. She’s alone. Everybody has seen it. _Oh god, that means Jake has seen it too! Oh my god!_

It’s unclear how long she was in the toilet, if anybody came or went while she was there, but when she emerges the corridors are empty and people are in class. She can’t go to class now. Not when everybody has seen her getting fucked by two guys thinking she’d done so by free will. Had she? No. No. No. She doesn’t believe it. She goes to her locker to get her bag. Somebody has written “Kill yourself, bitch!” on top of the big red lettered “Whore”. Her gut heaves again but she’s got nothing to throw up. She gets her bag and goes home.

* * *

She almost wishes she hadn’t switched her phone on. Lottie had sent “How could you???” late last night. Mandy had, exactly as she said, sent a warning. “The video is out. People in school has seen it and are saying really mean things. Maybe you shouldn’t come here today.” Then later, “I’m sorry. I can’t hang out with you until this has calmed down, I don’t want to be mean but I don’t want people thinking I do that too.” There are messages from strange numbers. One with the link to the video, others, suggesting hook ups. Those keeps coming. She switches the sound off. There’s nothing from Jake. In the evening she finally gets a hold of Jake. Their phone conversation is brief. He doesn’t believe she doesn’t remember anything and in short words make it clear to her that he doesn’t date whores. They’re trough. She doesn’t go out for two days. She cries a lot and sleeps a lot, exhausted, hopeless, alone. She doesn’t eat, only drinks juice. She has no one to turn to and feels soo lonely and desperate.

Early on Thursday she can’t take the isolation any more and makes a phone call.

”Dmitri Krushnic, speaking.”

”Hi… It’s Anna…”

”Hey, Anna! How nice of you to call. How are you?” Dmitri sounds so happy to hear from her it almost makes her cry again.

”I’m, um.. I’m fine,” she lies. “I was wondering if you would like to come over for dinner? I can cook?”

”I’d love to. But if you’re planning to spoil me with a home cooked meal again, how about you do the cooking and I buy the groceries? Sounds like a fair trade?”

In spite of herself Anna giggles. “You don’t have to.”

”But I want to.”

It would be such a relief not having to leave the house plus having somebody else pay. She reminds herself Dmitri has a steady job and offered so she doesn’t have to feel bad for saying yes. “Alright. Thank you.”

”No worries. Text me a list of what you need. When do you want me to come over?”

”Tonight? At 6?”

”I’ll be there. Looking forward to it.”

* * *

After they hang up Anna’s full of jittery nerves. Some part of her is afraid Dmitri will have seen the video too and is going to be an ass once he shows up. But he'd sounded so happy about her calling it made her all fluttery. She questioned why she hadn't called sooner. She had certainly thought about it so many times since he gave her his phone number. She had convinced herself it was because of Jake that she had refrained, but that was only partially true. It would only have been wrong if she had done something with Dmitri more than hang out. Mostly she hadn't called because she hadn’t been able to work up the courage but now she had nothing to lose. 

She sends him a short list of the groceries she'll need to make dinner, getting a thumbs up emoticon as a response right away. After that she gets up and looks in the mirror. She looks like shit. Her hair's a mess, she's got bags under her eyes from crying so much, she looks pale and harried. She sniffs herself to conclude that she stinks. She almost panics, wanting to call the whole thing off. But if she does he will wonder what is wrong. She fights off a new wave of tears. She should be stronger than this. She takes a few deep steadying breaths. First order of business is to shower. 

Showering feels a lot better than she thought. The water is almost scalding and the house may be falling to pieces, but the water pressure is great. After a thorough cleaning she feels marginally better. Makeup and styling covers up the worst traces of days of misery. She gets dressed in jeans and a nice tee and cleans the house to keep from thinking. Her stomach is in knots and every time thoughts about school, the video, Jake, Lottie, and Mandy pops into her head her eyes sting again. It feels like hours until Dmitri is coming but before she knows it it’s already 6 o’clock and the doorbell rings. She wants to hide and pretend she’s not at home, afraid of being judged by yet another person but desperate for company. She feels so isolated and wants to be left alone at the same time. Maybe it was a mistake to call him?

She takes a couple of steadying breaths. She’s wants to be an actress so she should be able to act as if nothing’s wrong, right?

She opens the door with a smile. Dmitri is standing outside with a big paper bag hitched in one arm and a bottle of white wine in his other hand. He’s dressed in a grey suit, white shirt and black tie, a badge with ‘security’ etched onto it clipped to his belt. He smiles warmly when he sees her. “Hey, Anna. I brought you this,” he holds the wine out to her. When she takes it and mumbles a thanks he leans in for a one armed hug, made slightly awkward by the grocery bag he’s holding but feels really good all the same.

She steps aside to let him in. He toes off his shoes and goes into the kitchen, her in tow. He puts the grocery bag on the counter and turns towards her. “I bought a couple of extra things. I, eh... “ he shifts and bends his head, eyes flicking to the floor and up to her again with a sheepish smile. “I might have overdone it. Hope it’s okay.”

Anna gives him a quizzical look and goes to check in the bag. It’s _full_ of things. Things she needs but couldn’t ask for since it was only for her and not for the dinner - like cereal and juice. Plus things she considers a luxury, like fresh fruit.

”I remembered some of the things from when your bags broke and wanted to do something nice for you.” He almost seems embarrassed.

”It’s too much. You didn’t have to…”

His responding smile is warm. “But I wanted to.”

The unexpected kindness squeezes her heart and for a moment she fears she’s going to cry again. She manages to keep the emotions from showing and gives him a radiant smile and a hug. “Thank you.”

He helps her unpacking, takes his suit jacket off and hangs it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs, then rolls his shirt sleeves up over his elbows. “I came straight from work and I’m still a bit keyed up. Would you mind if I helped you cook? It’d help me relax to have something to do.”

”Sure. Yeah. Absolutely.”

Anna can’t help but compare Dmitri to Jake. Jake had never once offered to help unless asked. Dmitri is just so _nice_. It feels good. Being pampered, taken care of, thought of. She’s so glad now that she called. There’s still that cold ball in her stomach from what happened and it makes it difficult for her to find things to say since she’s afraid of what she will say if she talks. Dmitri makes that easy for her. He’s doing most of the talking while they work. Telling her little stories about his days. He likes his current boss. He got rearended by a car a couple of days ago and pulled over by the cops but managed to talk himself out of a fine. Things like that. He’s easygoing and bit by bit Anna relaxes on the inside too even if the underlying sadness doesn’t go away totally. But she finds herself laughing in spite of herself. Every time she looks at Dmitri her eyes snag at the badge clipped onto his belt and the word “security”. It makes her feel safe, _he_ makes her feel safe. He cuts the vegetables and handles the knife like a pro chef. The knife flies with such pace it’s a wonder he doesn’t cut his fingers off. He visibly preens when she marvels at it and expresses how impressed she is and it feels really good seeing him trying to act casual about the compliment but lighting up from the praise. It makes him seem boyish somehow.

They eat and drink the wine, end up watching a movie together. He’s so easy to be around. She thinks she has managed to hide how she feels inside until after the movie. Dmitri turns towards her on the couch and takes her hand in his. He has a concerned expression and Anna is suddenly nervous. “Anna. I like you. This is none of my business unless you let it be, if you get what I’m sayin? But something’s wrong. What is it? Is it the robbery?” His eyes are so earnest and full of worried compassion that Anna’s throat constricts.

It’s been so nice to have him here, to feel like her life isn’t falling to pieces at least for a little while. She is scared shitless of what he’ll say and do if she tells him. He, who has been nothing but kind and helpful. Who’s always so respectful. And he is good looking, _hot_. What if he will sneer at her and call her a whore like the rest of them? What if he regrets saving her life? He _saved her life_. Somehow, that’s what makes her speak. Like she had an obligation towards him because of it. “I… no. Something happened a couple of days ago…” she swallows thickly and he waits patiently, his thumb rubs the back of her hand comfortingly. ”There is a video. I _don’t even remember making it_! Oh god.” She sniffles, turns her head away, can’t bear to look at him while she talks, afraid of what his eyes will show. “When I came to school…” the story comes pouring out of her, along with it, tears. She tells him about coming to school, how people acted, how Lottie had acted, Mandy showing her the video, the fright of not remembering, Jake, the texts she’s getting from strangers, either mean stuff about her being a whore, slut, how the world would be better without her, and the crude suggestions and other texts ‘asking her out’. Sometime during her talk he pulls her into an embrace, holding her tucked in under his chin, rubbing soothing circles on her back and lets her cry until she can talk again. He’s warm and solid, grounding.

He asks questions sometimes but mostly just lets her speak, really listening and she can’t find judgement in his eyes, only concern and sympathy. Finally she sits up straight and dries her eyes. She probably has mascara smeared all over by now but that can’t be helped. “I’m supposed to graduate in June. I don’t know how I’m supposed to go back to school or be able to focus on my studies.” She draws a deep steadying breath. “Do you want to see it?”

Dmitri is taken aback, eyebrows raising. “What? The movie?”

Whatever possessed her to ask, she can’t say. Maybe the fear that he’d come across it anyway. She nods. “Mhm.”

This is the first time during all this that Dmitri has displayed discomfort. He looks down on his lap and runs a hand through his hair, shifts. Then he takes her hand again and looks up to meet her eyes. “Look, Anna. In face of your honesty I’m going to be honest too. Had you asked me if I wanted to see a porno of you fucking two guys and loving it I would have said yes without hesitation and been very excited about it. You’re a very beautiful and vibrant woman and I’m just a man, if you get what I’m sayin?” He runs his hand through his hair and shifts again. “But you’re asking if I want to see a video of you getting raped and that just..” He makes a disgusted face. “No. I’d rather not unless you need me to. I care about you. It makes me very uncomfortable.”

”But I don’t know if I was raped.”

Dmitri snorts, his face getting hard for a fraction of a second before it’s back to being earnest. “Would you have consented to do such a video if you were sober?”

”No.”

”Is that something you’d think you’d do drunk?”

”No.”

”Do you usually get memory loss when you drink?”

” _No_! Never.”

”Then it’s safe to say you were raped. My guess is that they drugged you. I’m sorry.”

”Oh my god.” Anna presses her hand over her mouth and squeezes her eyes shut. She knew would never would have said yes. It had been so unreal seeing herself on the screen. It was like watching someone else and she hadn’t watched the video more times since Mandy showed her. Still, the most scary part was to not remember. A huge chunk of time just missing. If she was drugged, and it made sense with the few memories she _did_ have. The guys had seemed so nice! How could she not have known? She feels so ashamed and guilty. And what if she _had_ said yes when she was under the influence of drugs? Apparently she mumbled this out loud because Dmitri tugs her into an embrace again and strokes her hair calmingly. “It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault, Princess. Guys like this, they know what they’re doing. They make a living out of charming girls. It doesn’t matter what you said and didn’t say once you were drugged. You were unable to give informed consent. They most likely didn’t ask for it either. Believe me, it’s not your fault.”

 _Princess._ The endearment does not pass by unnoticed. “What am I going to do?”

”My suggestion? Tomorrow we go to the police and report the rape. Most likely these guys are long gone and nothing will come out of it but with it reported as a crime I can help you get it taken down from the server. I can’t do anything about people who have downloaded copies but I can remove the original source at least. Then we go to the hospital and have you checked up for STDs and possible other damages. After that - I suggest you change school to the one in Freeville. It’s possible they have seen it there too but even if they have, they are strangers. I imagine it must be a lot worse getting hate from people whom you thought were your friends than from people who don’t know you at all, if you get what I’m saying? And should the sexual harassment continue in Freeville I’ll raise hell. It wouldn’t matter even if you _had_ made a porno because you felt like it. It does not make you public property. You have the right to decide who touches you and not. People who work in the sex industry are entitled to as much respect as anyone else. Their jobs does not define them or make them less human. I’ve known a few, so I know. I think we should get you a new phone number too. I can help you with that...” Dmitri keeps talking, giving her concrete solutions to impossible problems. It won’t undo what happened but it gives her hope. He’s solid as a rock in this maelstrom of confusion. A safe harbour in a storm. Anna feels drained and so, soo, grateful for somebody taking the reins to fix this. Tiredness washes over her and somehow she falls asleep.

Friday she wakes up in her own bed, still in her clothes, but tucked in. It’s nine o’clock in the morning and she has a headache. For a moment she’s confused how she got there and why she’s in her clothes but then memory of yesterday comes flooding back. Dmitri must have carried her upstairs and tucked her in, respectful enough not to take her clothes off. She had told him and he’d been nothing but supportive. She thinks of school, her friends and the video and waits for the desperate feeling to wash over her but it doesn’t come. She just feels empty. Drained. It’s still better than before. She sits up and spots a glass of water, a pill, and a note on her nightstand. She reads the note. “ _Anna. I thought you might need this when you wake up. I hope you don’t mind that I stay here on the couch tonight. I doesn’t feel right to leave you alone like this. I’m downstairs if you need me. /D_ ” Despite everything, or maybe because of everything, her stomach fills with fluttery butterflies and she smiles. She takes the pill and downs it with the water, then goes to the bathroom. She takes one look in the mirror and grimaces. She looks like a raccoon. There are smudgy black mascara lines down her cheeks from the tears she cried. It makes her feel very embarrassed. She pees, brushes her teeth, sheds her clothes and takes a quick shower.

When she’s done and clothed in fresh clothes her headache is gone and she feels surprisingly good. She walks downstairs and smells bacon frying. The radio is on in the kitchen and she can hear Dmitri hum along, causing her to smile. She is nervous when she enters the kitchen, feeling self-conscious about yesterday. Dmitri hears her coming and turns around from where he’s standing by the stove. He’s wearing the same clothes as yesterday, but no tie. His hair is in a disarray, his shirt is rumpled like he slept in it, and there’s a black smudge on his chest where mascara from her cheek had rubbed off. He smiles broadly at her. “Good morning, Princess. I heard you were awake so I made breakfast. How are you feeling?”

”Like shit,” she answers with a self-depreciating smile. “But better. Thank you.”

He chuckles. “No worries.” He puts bacon on two plates with egg and toast and puts them on the table. There’s already a big glass of juice poured by her seat and a cup of coffee by his. “Coffee or tea?”

”Coffee, please.” She sits down and takes a big gulp of juice as he pours the coffee and turns off the stove. When he sits down she gestures at the smudge on his shirt. “Sorry about then.”

He looks down on the spot and shrugs. “It’s not a problem. Don’t worry about it.” He looks back up. “I took off from work today. You feel up to doing what we talked about yesterday?”

Anna pokes at the egg with her fork. It’s done exactly as she prefers it, only fried on one side and with the yolk just barely runny. “Not really. But I’d like to get it over with.”

”Good. You mind if I go home a quickie after breakfast to change clothes and then come pick you up?”

”No, that sounds like a good plan.” She smiles at him getting a warm smile in return that sets off the butterflies again. They eat doing companionable small talk, not approaching any heavy subjects and she keeps stealing surreptitious glances at the man across from her. Ex-military, working with security, a man of action. She’s so glad he came into her life when he did. The thought of tackling all this alone… she couldn’t have. She wouldn’t have known what to do. 

* * *

The day is horrible and stressful in every kind of way. She talks to Sheriff Henriksen. A black man nearing his fifties. There’s a photo on his wall of his son, Victor Henriksen, Jr, who plays hockey in Team Free Will. The sheriff is very respectful and asks a lot of questions she can’t answer due to memory loss. But he seems inclined to believe her at least. Which is more than can be said for his deputy who makes it quite clear by body language alone that he thinks she is full of shit. _He_ asks what she was wearing and how much she had to drink. The sheriff sends him out, not liking the blame being put on her. She catches a drift of their conversation when she is finally free to go. The deputy thinks she was up for it and just tries to take it back because her boyfriend broke up with her, putting blame on innocent boys. It hurts. But Dmitri is there waiting and he hears it too. He gets mad and files a complaint for misconduct by the deputy.

The visit to the hospital is taxing too. Dmitri waits outside while she’s examined by a gynecologist for damages, finding none. They take samples of secretion from her vagina, blood and urine to check for possible diseases and promises to get back to her as soon as possible with the results. Afterwards they eat lunch and go to the school in Freeville. They meet up with the principal, a miss Moseley. She’s a big afro-american woman who combines a dry no-nonsense attitude with a warm and motherly aura. Dmitri stays by Anna’s side this time. He does most of the talking, explaining the situation and Anna is met with understanding. It’s no problem switching school, just a couple of papers to fill in. She’ll start monday next week. Their last stop for the day is at a shop selling electronics. Dmitri buys her a new phone, a Samsung Galaxy S2, released only a few days prior. She thinks it’s _way_ too expensive but he just shrugs it off and tells her she deserves it for what she’s been through. In addition he helps her fix a new phone number with a new provider. She’s exhausted when they get back home and they order pizza and watch a movie, Anna curled up close to Dmitri. It feels good to have him there. He stays another night on the couch, just to make sure she’s alright before he goes off to work as his job does not automatically gives him weekends off.

She discovers she has lost her old phone, probably forgetting it at the store in all of yesterday’s excitement. It’s not a huge crisis since it was a pay-to-go, but it means all her old phone numbers are gone and she doesn’t know any of them by heart. Not that she needs them anymore since her friends has abandoned her. Dmitri stops by the store to check on his way over after work but the phone is truly lost. Good news though is that he managed to get the video removed from the website. He comes over after work on Sunday too but doesn’t stay the night. They eat dinner, he helps fixing stuff in the house and just hang out talking and watching some TV, every time he comes over he brings something small as a gift. Some chocolate, a flower, a new tool for the house. And he does these things for her that she’s not used to, holding up doors, pulling out chairs, making sure that she’s warm and comfortable. He calls her “princess” more often than not now and she loves it. He treats her like one. He doesn’t come on to her, but pays her a lot of compliments and holds his arm around her when they watch TV. It’s starting to drive her insane because she can’t figure out if he just wants to be friends or if he’s courting her in an old fashioned way.

Early Monday morning Dmitri picks her up and drives her to school, promising to pick her up afterwards and tells her to call him if there’s a problem. She’s scared shitless of getting the same treatment as in her old school, add to that that she’s from Angel Falls and there could be some real nasty developments. There isn’t. People are mildly curious on behalf of her being new, but groups are already established so nobody seeks her out specifically to make friends. The general air is accepting though and people talk with her during lessons when the situation prompts them to. A blond girl from her history class sees her looking lost in the cafeteria and invites her to sit with her group of friends. They don’t exclude her but they don’t go out of their way to include her either and she’s still very cautious about talking, afraid of prompting questions about why she’s here. She’s a bit confused at first as to why no one seems to recognise her or care considering it had been such a fuss about it in her old school. It hits her then that it’s probably because freevillians don’t mix with people from the falls so there’s no gossip exchange. That makes her wonder about their easy acceptance of her but then again, they might just think she just moved to Freeville from somewhere else. The ongoing town wars is working in her favour.

There is exactly one incident of someone recognising her and saying something about it.

She’s by her new locker when it happens. “Hey, I know you. You’re that girl from the porno.” The male voice comes from way too close from behind and is low, leering, far too intimate. She turns around with a cold knot of dread in her stomach. A guy in a letterman jacket, with short cropped hair and big dark brown eyes (that would have been beautiful if it wasn’t for the predatory gleam in them) leans closer to her, putting his arms on the lockers on either side of her to box her in. “Whattaya say you and me get together sometime and have some _fun_?” he drawls with a smirk.

”No! Get away from me, asshole!” She pushes him hard in the chest and scowls at him.

”Aww, come on babe. Don’t be like that,” he complains and steps closer again. There are people watching curiously now but if anyone heard his comment about the porno, no one shows it.

”Oi! Jason! You heard her, she’s not interested,” someone calls out and Anna turns to look at the speaker coming their way. It’s another guy wearing a letterman jacket and people step out of his way, making it apparent that this guy is school royalty. Every school has them. The ‘cool’ kids. He’s tall. _Very_ tall. Brown longish hair, almond shaped hazel eyes, dimples. Moves with the confidence of someone who knows they’re in charge. He’s looking at Jason with the annoyed smile of someone chastising a friend.

”Dammit, Sam. I was just flirting with her,” Jason says grumpily and backs away from Anna.

Sam huffs in amusement. “Yeah. I saw. And failing miserably,” he says as he comes level with them. He cuffs Jason playfully on the head. “Dude. Next time, write some poetry and buy her some flowers or somethin’.” Jason chuckles and throws his hands up in defeat, giving Anna an apologetic smile before turning to walk away. The tall guy, Sam, looks at her and gives her a sympathetic look. “You alright?” Anna nods, feeling at loss for words at being stood up for like this even though Sam and Jason are obviously friends.

”Of course she’s alright! Whattaya think I was gonna do? _Jeez_ ,” Jason calls out.

Sam turns away from Anna and jogs up to Jason giving him a little shove. “Put your foot in your mouth like you always do.”

Jason shoves back with a grin. “Dude. We can’t _all_ be smooth operators like you.”

” _What_? Smooth operator? I’m no smo…” and then they’re out of earshot. Anna lets out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

Her last class for the day is English. To her horror she discovers that Jason is in her class. When the bell rings declaring the end of the lesson he places a downturned note on her desk before he slinks out. That knot of cold dread is back in her belly when she turns it over. It’s not what she’s expecting. There’s a flower drawn on top of the note, plus he’s written flower and drawn an arrow to it to clarify. Underneath it he’s written:

 _Roses are red,_  
_Violets are blue,_  
_I’m an ass with no tact,_  
_and now you know that too._  
_\- Sorry._

It makes her giggle. It’s kind of cute actually, even if the guy was an asshole.. She keeps the note. She’s still worried he’ll tell others. But her first day here wasn’t horrible at least. Changing school wasn’t such a bad idea. Then her phone vibrates with a text from Dmitri telling her he’s waiting outside and she feels better than she’s done since this whole thing started.

* * *


	23. Behind the scenes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha should really be more careful about keeping his relationship with Michael strictly professional. Somehow he keeps forgetting that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Notes:** The [Fukushima Daiichi nuclear disaster](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fukushima_Daiichi_nuclear_disaster) is a real thing. It's still a problem to this day.

* * *

**2011**

* * *

April 4th - Wednesday

Michael is sitting by the desk in the basement but not looking at the monitors for the moment. He’s got a bunch of files and papers in front of him and keeps comparing different sheets with a frown on his face. Sasha had been glad to find him there when he came home. He’s sitting in the fold out couch (currently in it’s couch shape) prepping groceries for Anna’s home. The juice she prefers is one of those with a very long expiration date so he can fix them in advance, sticking a tiny needle through the protective foil beneath the lid and inject it with the poison acquired from Doug. He’s got other stuff prepped too, stuff that he won’t touch when he’s over there. He’s feeling quite chipper. It had only taken a day to fuck stuff up big time for Anna. She hadn’t been to school since the video was released and he’d been using a hacker and some kids paid to feed the fire so to speak to make sure gossip was going wild. Currently there was a rumour in school that she wasn’t in school because she was making a new porno, that she made pornos to afford drugs, that she’d gone to Hollywood to try to sleep her way to a real acting gig. A couple of rumours dropped had spread, twisted, multiplied.

"I give up," Michael says and throws his hands up, scowling down on his papers. He spins the chair around to face Sasha and crosses his arms over his chest. “You sure she will call you?"

"She'll call. She can’t resist my charm. Could you?" Sasha jokes. 

Michael frowns like he’s thinking it through. Then he smiles, just a small quirking of his lips. "No... I suppose I can't."

It’s an odd answer. A joke, Sasha hopes. He doesn’t answer, instead he hums a tune and checks the packages of medicines he has had created especially for Anna. The poison she is getting continuously have side effects. The longer she’s exposed to it, the worse it will get. Because of that he needs medicine to hide the effects as long as possible. She has already started to show the first signs. Fatigue, headaches, slight confusion. The confusion they add to on purpose, changing place on stuff in her house, disconnecting her charger, erasing stuff from her computer. Sasha wants her to doubt her sanity and her memory. The headaches though, he won’t (can’t) stop them but the painkillers he has designed for her―apart from dulling pain and containing more poison―they also have ingredients that will alleviate angst and give her a ever so slight high. That is to make her more relaxed and less stressed when she’s with him. He has another package that looks exactly the same that he will give her to keep when he is away from her for a couple of days. _Those_ are designed to _induce_ anxiety. Unless she happens to know the tactile alphabet it’s impossible to tell the packages apart. The only difference is that the embossed name printed in _Braille_ over the visual name on the package is misspelled with a ‘*’ instead of an ‘A’. One dot, shifted from left to right. Sasha doesn’t know _Braille_ either, he just needs one little difference that will go undetected by most. This is just the beginning. He’ll revise what he needs to give her as her body gets sicker.

Michael tilts his head, studying him for a while. “You seem awfully enthusiastic about her treatment in school considering your rant the other day."

Sasha makes a sturgeon face and shrugs. "Why shouldn't I be? Things are going my way." Sasha finishes what he’s doing and gets up from the couch. "Enough about that. What is it that's causing you to give up?" he asks and walks over, leaning over the desk to look at Michael’s papers. It’s none of his business but he's in a good mood and restless. It’s the waiting thing again. Either Anna will go back to school or call him. He is a bit surprised though. He had thought that she would be trying to get back with Lottie, Jake, or even Mandy. Calling them to argue or plead. But no. She had accepted the rejection as final right away. To him it seems strange. For someone who's afraid to be abandoned he'd expected clinginess, not defeat. She’s too sweet to be treated this way by people who claim to be her friends. But they are used to her bending to their will, putting them first. It’s an outrage that they don’t flock to her defense. Sasha has worked with the worst kind of people―people you could expect to _literally_ stab you in the back―that has shown more loyalty.

Michael spins his chair again, following Sasha’s movements with an unreadable face. The only reason Sasha dares being as presumptuous as he is by looking at the papers is that Michael brought them here. He’s hiding this from Lucifer, but not from Sasha or he wouldn’t be working openly on them, or making a comment about running into problems. The papers have surprising content. It’s little boy Mikey shining through. It’s charity and accounts from a whole range of the legal _Porodica_ run companies in many countries. One paper is a list of charities of different kinds. Anything from wildlife preserves, cancer research, help for the homeless, free education in developing countries, well building in Africa, drug rehabilitation, AIDS prevention, help for abused women, the list goes on. Beside each charity Mikey has written by hand a company name and a sum. There’s another paper with current disasters on, each has helping organisations listed under them and once again company names and sums. But one disaster is highlighted with yellow marker and is followed by exclamation marks. Below it Michael has written “Fucking Asia!!!!!”

It’s the Fukushima Daiichi nuclear disaster.

”Off the records, I presume?” Sasha asks.

”This is as off the record it can be,” Mikey agrees.

At the moment Sasha isn’t bothered by the trust Mikey displays, blurred lines or not. The only thing that’s wrong in this is Michael’s motives, not his actual actions. This is the caring heart in him bled onto paper then carefully hidden behind acceptable reasons like tax reduction, publicity stunts, politics, bribes. He made the donations look shady, like they were made with a hidden agenda by pairing them with the ‘right’ company. Sasha knew the legal _Porodica_ companies and fronts did charity. He hadn’t known that originated solely from Mikey until now but by all appearances it did. It made sense. He was still dropping alms to beggars and helping baby birds back in their nests when no one was looking, only now on a grand scale. And he was facilitating resources from all corners of their empire, no matter which brother or uncle was in charge. Sasha felt a swell of pride in his chest on the behalf of Michael upon seeing this. He taps a finger on the list with charities, jumps to conclusions and takes a chance, saying “Nice work. Your brothers don’t mind this?” What he means is ‘ _How do you hide this from your brothers?_ ’ Really, what he’s doing is throwing himself headlong into personal the same way he had backpedalled into professional the morning he woke up in the same bed as Mikey. Dumb as it may be, he is curious. 

Michael hears the question for what it is. “Why bother my family? They have more important things to worry about. The fronts practically run themselves anyway. The ‘ _suggestions_ ’ go directly to the people most likely to see the tactical value and carry them out. My name is never mentioned in context with this,” Mikey answers in a flippant way, like he hadn’t just made one big ass confession and happily thrown professionalism aside too.

Sasha nods his understanding and claps Mikey on the shoulder. Then he points to Fukushima disaster. “This one’s the problem, yes?” Mikey nods. “Care to fill me in? Not watched much news lately.”

”The really short version, a 9.0 magnitude earthquake struck off the coast of Honshu Island on March, eleventh. The tremor and tsunami that followed created damaged the nuclear power plant in Fukushima. Radioactive leaks were detected. The cooling systems went to hell. Over the next upcoming days there are fires and explosions in the four reactors fucking shit up even more. People within 20 kilometers are evacuated and people within 30 kilometers are advised to stay indoors. I might add that the recommended evac zone by the U.S is 80 kilometers. The plant is continuing to leak radioactive water into the sea and exposing the surrounding area by air and they aren’t even close to fixing it. Elevated radioactivity in the drinking water has been detected as far away as Tokyo. Really, this is just the beginning. It’s just the beginning, Alexandr.” Mikey shakes his head, it’s obvious he feels very passionately about this. “This will continue to influence everything living for years, decades. First off we have the evacuated people who suddenly finds themselves homeless. Then there’s people who work producing food, or living as fishermen. They’ll no longer be able to support themselves since their wares will contain too much radioactivity. People will die, have a higher risk of getting cancer, develop allergies, give birth to deformed and sickly children. Same with animals and plants. Don’t even get me started on the sea life.” He rubs a hand over his face and makes a noise of exasperation. “People over there need help, and lots of it.”

”So what’s the problem?”

”The problem is that this is the part of Asia where we don’t operate. Japan, China, Korea, parts of India and all those places where the Triads and Yakuza reign. We don’t go there, you know this, Aleksandr.” He frowns irritably at Sasha.

”Yes, but I fail to see how that has anything to do with charity work?”

”If my family finds money from our businesses or personal accounts going into the restricted parts of Asia without being parts of our trade deals with the Yakuza and Triads there will be questions asked. And I can’t find any valid excuse for it.”

Sasha thinks for a while. “Would you have made donations from your private accounts if you could?”

”I would. But such big withdrawals will be questioned even if they come from my own funds. I’d still need an excuse.”

”Would they question equally hefty bonuses given to a Croatoan?” Sasha says with a spark of sly humour in his eyes. Michael looks like he’s about to say something but halts himself and narrows his eyes suspiciously. Sasha continues. “Let’s say a Croatoan in high standing with a long service and a known aversion towards rape and sexual abuse that you might have forced to participate in such activity?”

”And why would I have done that?” Michael says slowly.

”Because you can. Because you like to play mindgames. Because you’re stuck in a small town with nothing better to do. Because you like to stretch people as far as you can to see if they snap. Pick one. Pick all.” Sasha is smiling now.

”Uh-huh. Sounds about right. No they would not question that.” Michael is still squinting suspiciously but now he is paying rapt attention.

”Now lets say said Croatoan happens to make private donations to charity in Japan, would they care?” They wouldn’t. A Croatoan could do whatever they wanted with their money as long as they remained loyal. Sasha knew that. He knew about at least two colleagues who donated most of their earnings to the church to buy their souls free of sin so they could go to Heaven when they died. Like that would work. They were in this line of work solely due to that they were sadistic and cruel. If there was a god he’d hardly be fooled by how they spent their money. Sasha didn’t have to come up with a valid excuse to be humane towards mudmonkeys like Mikey had to. And now Mikey had caught on on the idea of Sasha laundering his money for him, eyes getting excited and lips tugging upwards in the corners.

”Indeed we wouldn’t.”

”Problem solved then. Tell me what amount you want me to donate and to what account and I’ll go to the bank straight away and make the transfer.” He makes the offer in good faith. Mikey doesn’t have to pay him until later. In a month, in a year. Doesn’t matter. He rarely touches his funds anyway and it’d look better if he made the donation before he got anything from Michael. It’d look like he felt magnanimous and then changed his mind, asking for corresponding amount back when Mikey ‘pushed him to do stuff he didn’t want to do’, lending Mikey deniability.

”You’d do that? Just like that,” Mikey says, not quite a question, not quite a statement.

Sasha makes a fist out of his right hand and hits his chest twice rapidly over his heart, a gesture of loyalty, and winks, then pats Mikey on the shoulder while straightening up. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going upstairs with the groceries I prepped for Anna. They need to be put in the refrigerator.”

He feels Mikey’s eyes on him as he walks up the stairs. When he comes down again Mikey is on the phone, yammering away in Portuguese. He hands Sasha a note with a sum and an account number. There is also a date a few months from now with “+ 25% interest” written by it. That’s a nice surprise even if Sasha hardly cares about the money. It’s the gesture he appreciates. He goes to the bank in the city, making the six figure donation. When he gets back he gives Mikey a receipt for the donation and sits down on the couch with a notebook to sketch up possible developments and how to counter them. He doesn’t think much about what he’s done. He trusts Mikey to pay him back. Mikey taps away on the computer for a while in companionable silence, then leaves with a little nod. Much later Sasha thinks that maybe it was dumb what he did. It was a gesture of a friend, not an underling. Still, it feels right so Sasha leaves it be. 

* * *

**2011**

* * *

April 7th - Saturday

On Saturday Sasha leaves Anna "to go to work". Michael isn’t there when he gets home but calls him shortly after for an update. He’s been keeping track of Sasha and Anna and knows everything Sasha reports already. He shows up soon after they hang up. Sasha feels slightly annoyed at first, he had hoped for a calm day by himself, maybe get some sleep in a real bed. For once they’re upstairs in the kitchen, drinking soda straight out of the can.

”Is that Anna’s phone?” Mikey asks and gestures with his chin towards the old phone now lying on the kitchen table in front of Sasha.

”Yes. I snagged it from her after I bought her the new phone. I want to keep track of when her friends start trying to contact her again.”

”Mmh.” Michael leans his back against the counter and takes a sip of his soda. “You gonna seduce Anna?”

Sasha puts his feet up on the other chair and stretches languidly. Sleeping on a couch is a bitch and his neck and shoulder aches. Maybe he should go into the city to find a massage parlour. A real one. To get an actual massage. “I’m not sure. I’ll do what she needs me to do. I think what she needs is a father figure.”

”One doesn’t necessarily exclude the other,” Michael says then grins impishly. “ _Yeah, daddy. Give it to me harder, daddy_ ,” he says in a teasing voice. 

Sasha makes a face, snags a kitchen towel and throws it at Mikey, making him laugh. “That’s just foul, Michael. I’m not going to fuck anybody who calls me daddy.”

Michael holds up his hands, still grinning broadly. “Hey. For some it’s a kink. Just saying.”

Sasha raises an eyebrow. “For you?”

”Nah.” Mikey shrugs. “I don’t care either way. Whatever does it for the lady is good for me.”

 _Unless you’re ‘playing’ and gutting them up as you go you mean?_ Sasha thinks sarcastically. “If a woman called me daddy while we fuck I’d probably…” He holds up a straight finger and curls it down while making a whistling sound like something descending to demonstrate losing his erection. 

Mikey sniggers. “I still think you should seduce her. It’d tie her to you even more.”

Sasha scoffs. ”Give her a break. She’s just got raped and has been flaunted as meat in front of practically everyone she knows. She doesn’t need another guy viewing her as a sex object, you get what I’m sayin?”

”Maybe. _Or_ she might need to feel desirable to decent guys _despite_ having been flaunted as meat, so she doesn’t think she is dirty and spoiled for somebody like you. Or rather, for who she thinks you are. Besides, she’s following you around like a puppy making heart eyes. She’d want you to make a move.”

It’s a fair point. Sasha still thinks it’s better to wait and see. He wants to have her complete and utter trust. He doesn’t want her to feel like he’s being nice to her just to get her in bed. “We’ll see…” he answers non-committally. He wonders if Mikey has a voyeuristic streak just like himself and if that’s why he’s pushing for that option, or if his reasons are based on something else. 

”Oh, right. I was wondering about something you told Anna on Thursday. About getting pulled over. Is it true?” Mikey asks, switching subject.

Sasha smirks. “Yes. With the body of Anna’s attacker in the trunk. A beautiful female cop. Got myself a date in the process,” he says, practically oozing of smugness.

Mikey bursts out laughing. “ _You’re kidding_?” At Sasha’s self-satisfied headshake he laughs even more. “Man! I knew you can keep your head cool, but chatting up a cop with a dead body in the trunk? You’ve got to have ice in your veins,” he says grinning, eyes sparkling and crinkling at the corners. 

Sasha shrugs, feigning a phlegmatic attitude about Mikey’s approval, preening on the inside.

”So? Was she a good fuck?” Mikey asks raises his eyebrows meaningfully.

Sasha scowls. “Jody’s not that kind of woman. Show some respect please.”

Michael tilts his head, smile full of humour. “What kind of woman is she then?”

Sasha looks at the soda can on the table. Runs a finger down the length of it, leaving a trail in the condense. The date with Jody had gone well. Dinner at a nice restaurant, drinks afterwards, talking for hours, dropping her off and getting a goodbye kiss. He hadn’t even tried getting her into bed. “Down to earth, strong, sharp. Sees through bullshit and calls you out on it. But with humour. Nice.” Sasha visualizes the way Jody raised her eyebrow, those beautiful brown eyes sparkling with dry humour, when she didn’t buy the shit he was selling. The way she combined the soft vulnerability of a female with strength, self-sufficiency and sharp wit. The dark humour that came with seeing too much, experiencing the filth in the world first hand. Yet she’d kept her faith in humanity. A woman who could hold her own. Edges sharp enough to cut yourself on but with a soft warm core.

Michael’s chuckle breaks him out if his reverie and makes him look up. “Look at who’s making heart-eyes now,” Mikey teases but sounds almost wistful. Sasha scoffs but doesn’t refute. “You seeing her again?” 

”We got a date next week.”

”Nice.” Michael downs his soda and leaves the empty can on the table. “Alright. I have to go. Me and Luce are heading to the city. Have a good day.” He claps Sasha on the shoulder on his way out.

Soon after Mikey has left Anna’s phone beeps. There’s a text from Lottie. “ _I’m sorry. I overreacted. Please call me! I miss you._ ” He types a quick reply. “ _Fuck off and leave me alone!!!!_ ” Then he goes into the bedroom. It’s rarely used since he spends so much time in the basement. He sheds his clothes and goes to bed. It’s nice sleeping in a real bed for once. Pull-out couches and ordinary couches are taking their toll on his body, leaving aches that threatens to become permanent. He falls asleep almost instantly.

* * *


	24. Trust your Gut Feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> June - Michael and Sasha does a job together. *dun dun dun* (Also, you may want to ruminate a bit about the fairy tales Mary told her children after this chapter. ^^)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Notes:**  
>  I wasn't planning to post this yet since it will be a time jump and we'll go back to April and May later. It doesn't matter though as this chapter is a stand alone and doesn't affect the Anna plot. I'm posting this today because it makes me feel good to publish new chapters and today is my birthday (22 June) and I'm feeling a bit depressed. A lot of bad stuff has happened around my birthday so I get a bit sad. Sharing this with you perks me up.
> 
> Speaking of perking up - this chapter reveals something about the whole VC'Verse that I'm a bit excited about. :D I have a whole bunch of headcanons about it. It doesn't make a difference for the Winchesters in this 'verse but still... You'll see. I'm a dork. Couldn't help myself. XD
> 
> Also, for those of you who hasn't seen it on [tumblr](http://volatile-chemistry-fanfic.tumblr.com/), I made a photomanip, trying to capture what Sasha looks like. There's no right or wrong if you picture him differently since he's purely fictional. I'd still love to see your version of him if you ever make one or find a picture that fits. :) It's at the end of this chapter.  
> Aaaanyways....

* * *

**2011**

* * *

June

They had checked who worked in the targeted office building and what their schedules were. From their base in a top floor apartment across the street they’d watched everyone leave. The janitor left 01:12 AM. They waited another ten minutes before making their move, while their hacker Zuko recorded a loop on the security cameras they had already hijacked. They both had a messenger bag with some equipment and a set of documents. They did a quick search of each floor, then in certain offices they located specific manila folders where they replaced one document for one they brought. It’s the same document but with a few details altered. The computerized file has already been switched through hacking and now they’re only ensuring no physical evidence of the alteration remains.

It’s a fairly easy job but Sasha’s got pulse. Something is nagging at him and he can’t pinpoint what. It’s certainly not Michael who is doing a great job. He’d make a great Croatoan, Sasha thinks with wry amusement. They have shut off the elevators and split up to take one of the two stairwells each, making sure nobody can come or go without them noticing. At each floor they look around and then wait until the other one peeks forth by his stairwell giving the all clear before actually entering the floor.

The building is empty. It has no security guard during nights. The locks they have to open are easy to pick. They have the codes they needed and a hacker working to control and monitor the security system while they worked. Piece of cake. This doesn’t mean Sasha let his guard down even for a minute. Things go wrong more often than not. Somebody coming back to the office to use a room for a clandestine affair. A nosy neighbour seeing flashlights in the window calling the cops. Small simple things that could get them busted. This far things had gone smooth, but the nagging feeling won’t leave.

They’ve finished all floors and the only thing left is the basement. It’s used for storage and the object here is to use a flash drive to switch out the backup file on the huge server drive only connected to the internal network, and switch one last document that's locked into a safe. The basement was originally built to be a garage, so it's one huge room with pillars, filled with everything from file cabinets to furniture. During the construction of the building the plans had been changed and no car entrance had been made. _Why_ They’d changed their mind mid-build nobody knew. 

Clearing the basement is quick work. They can see each other most of the time. Their goals are both by the wall furthest away but on opposite sides. Sasha’s target is the server and Mikey’s the safe. The movement of going down on one knee in front of the server is uncannily synchronized with Michael doing the same on the other side of the room. It would make Sasha smile if it wasn’t for his gut feeling blaring “ _GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!_ ” all the sudden. It’s cold here. Has to be, to keep the server drives working. But a shiver runs down Sasha’s spine. It’s too cold. He works fast, attaching the flash drive, waiting for a little led light turn from red to green. He has no idea what this thing actually does. It’s something the computer specialists in their pay keeps track of. His heart is beating faster and adrenaline starts spiking. His breath is coming in white puffs now. A glance towards Mikey shows his exhales are also condensating in the cold. _Fuck this shit._ He yanks the flash drive out, uncaring if it had turned green or not, and whistles to Mikey who looks up just as he gets the safe door open. Sasha motions with a cutting motion over his throat, an unspoken “abort mission”, and throws himself up, legging it as fast as possible towards the exit. Michael follows suit. They had entered through different doors and Sasha goes for the one he came from. He is scared shitless right now. It doesn’t help that the door is mysteriously locked and so cold he might have burnt himself if it wasn’t for his leather gloves. “Fuck,” he hisses and runs towards Michael’s door. He and Mikey reaches it at the same time and Sasha yanks it open, swearing he meets resistance. He could also swear he saw frost spread across it but then they’re out and running up the stairs. Mikey is hot on his heels up and out. Sasha bypasses all security precautions. They need to get out _nownownow_! He runs out of the building towards the apartment complex opposite where they have their base. He takes the stairs three steps at a time all the way to the top flight, fumbles with the keys to open their apartment door, and collapses against the wall once he’s in. His hands are shaking, lungs burning and lactic acid is damn near searing his muscles to cinder with pain. 

Michael more or less falls through the door, closing it with a bang and collapsing onto the floor, heaving air laboriously. They’re both red faced, sweating heavily, steaming. It takes a while before they can muster energy to speak. “Fuck, Aleksandr,” Michael pants. “You’re, fast, as fuck. Jesus. Like a, fucking, race horse.”

Fear has faded and the after-rush of it makes Sasha slightly giddy. He chuckles at Michael’s statement. He _is_ fast. Very fast in fact. But only at short distances. When he was younger he could keep going for far longer at top speed. _But I’m not younger._ As if to remind him his knee is aching horribly. An old injury making itself known, protesting the exertion. He’d choose hand-to-hand combat any day before full flight. Running always kills the knee.

He heaves himself upright and goes to the window where they had been watching the entrance, peeks outside, sees nothing, and takes up his phone. He dials their hacker on speaker phone and sinks down on the floor, resting his back against the wall below the window. Michael comes to join him. The hacker answers on first ring. “Zuko. Can you send us the security footage from the basement just now?” he asks and opens up the laptop they’d left on the floor.

”I can. You won’t see much. Wait.” There’s some clicking on the other end of the line then the laptop dings for a received message. Sasha opens the file. “Something happened,” Zuko continues. “I don’t know what. Nothing I can fix from here.” The footage he sent them is from the basement. Everything is in order and then he and Mikey enters. The footage starts to warble and get static, then it just cuts out and dies altogether.

That didn’t help much. The basement was empty save for them, the _whole building_ was empty save for them. “Any activity on the other floors?” Sasha asks.

”Nu-uh. Nothing except from you running like you had a tiger on your heels. What happened?”

Sasha doesn’t answer that. “We had to abort mission. I don’t know if I removed the drive too fast. Is there any way you can check if the file was transferred?” he asks instead.

”Sure. Put the flash drive in the laptop.” Zuko knows better than to pry when his superiors does not give details. Sasha does as he’s told and a black window with green text and numbers pops up by itself on the screen. He hears Zuko tapping away on his keyboard on the other side of the line while the letters and numbers roll down on the screen, indicating that Zuko is now in control of the laptop’s workings. “Yep. You did it. It has transferred a copy of itself so you’re in the green.” The black window closes itself.

”Alright, good. Disconnect the loop but keep monitoring and stay on standby.”

”Aye aye, Cap.” Zuko answers perkily. Sasha snorts and hangs up. 

Michael has been following the conversation and what happened on the screen with interest. Now he’s looking at Sasha and holds out a bottle of water to him. Sasha takes it gratefully and drinks greedily. He hands it back half empty. “So Aleksandr. Care to inform me what that mad dash was all about now?”

”Gut feeling,” Sasha answers with no hesitation. This is something he can’t explain rationally. But any time he has ignored his gut feeling bad things has happened. It’s a good thing Michael had listened when he gave the abort mission sign. Now that they were safe is the time to argue, not on site. 

Mikey lets out a little disbelieving laugh. “ _Gut feeling?_ Seriously?” He stares, he’s smiling but his eyes are sharp and angry.

Sasha turns to face Michael head on. “In three months I turn 47,” he says with voice and face dead serious. “I’ve served you for 25 years as a full Croatoan, longer still if you include my training. During this time you’ve sent me all over the world and bid me to do everything from the most menial tasks to fucking full on combat in war zones. I’m still alive. Apart from skills and a huge dose of luck, what’s kept me alive is my _gut feeling._ If there’s one thing I’ve learned is to always trust it. If my gut feeling tells me to run then I fucking _run_ , you get what I’m saying?”

Michael purses his lips, sharp eyes locked on Sasha. He’s quiet. He takes a sip of the water before he speaks. “What do you propose we do now? I didn’t have time to make the switch before we ran so they’ll know someone was there.”

”Let it be. The safe was left open and that’s the only document that doesn’t match the others. They’ll think it’s a fake if they even figure out why the safe was opened in the first place.”

”I think we should go back. Just because you got the jitters―” Michael starts to say but cuts off when Sasha grabs his upper arm harshly and interrupts him.

”My job is first and foremost to keep you safe. If I deem this too dangerous for myself then you will not go back in, no matter what. Is that understood?” Sasha puts all authority he can muster in his voice and demeanor, like Michael was a Croatoan or a pawn under his command rather than his boss. Mikey stares coldly at the hand gripping his arm but Sasha doesn’t let go. “Sir. Is that understood?” Michael looks back at him, eyes cold and anger kept in check but definitely seething underneath. He doesn’t answer. “We stay here and monitor what happens when they get back in the office tomorrow. In case they get suspicious we’ll know.”

Michael is quiet for a while, his jaw muscles flexing. Then his mask clicks on and he smiles, all visible signs of anger gone. “Very well, Aleksandr. We’ll do that. Up for a game of cards while we wait?” Sasha is not fooled. Underneath the amiable mask the Бог брат is furious. Not so much about the botched mission but about Sasha taking over command. If everything gets fucked up because of this Sasha’s in trouble. Michael is not a stupid or rash man though. He waits to see the outcome first and no one was here to see this temporary power shift.

”Sure. I’ll just call Zuko first.”

Sasha calls, instructing Zuko to hook their laptop up to the security camera feeds. Once the laptop displays them all in small windows they settle down to play cards.

* * *

”We’ve got movement.” Michael says looking out of the window towards the street.

”It’s only 05:37. What is he doing here?” Sasha says. It’s a rhetorical question. They watch the CEO look around nervously by the entrance before opening the door and going inside the office. They shift their attention to the security stream. The CEO seems nervous but didn’t react to the door being unlocked. He is heading straight towards the basement but opting for the elevators that have been switched back on remotely by Zuko. He steps out of the elevator on basement level and they no longer have visual due to the busted cameras.

They wait. And wait. “The fuck is he doing?” Michael says when he hasn’t emerged back from the basement after 30 minutes.

He never comes back. They keep an eye both on the street and the laptop, but nothing more happens until 07:30 when the receptionist comes to work. She goes about doing her opening preparations. At 07:45 the security guard comes. He goes to the top floor to start making his rounds. The receptionist takes the elevator down to the basement. It takes about one minute before she comes back into the elevator in full panic, slamming the button repeatedly and screaming. They can’t hear her but they can see it. Her feet leave bloody foot prints. She gets out of the elevator on ground floor, runs to the desk and takes the phone but then bends over and throws up on the floor.

Sasha’s pulse is elevated. He looks up and share a _what-the-fuck?_ -look with Michael who looks just as bewildered.

”It was empty,” Michael states. 

Sasha nods. “Empty,” he agrees.

They stay watching in silence. The receptionist calls the police and after that the place becomes full of activity. A call to Zuko hooks them up to police radio and they get some answers along with more questions. The body of the CEO was found ripped to shreds, literally. Blood and body parts scattered in the whole basement. How, who, or why remains unknown.

”It was empty,” Michael repeats, this time visibly shaken.

Sasha too is unsettled. There is no logical explanation. This isn’t the first time he’s come up against mysterious things in his life and it scares the shit out of him every time if he’s honest with himself. “Gut feeling.”

”No shit.” Michael claps him on the shoulder. “It seems your gut feeling saved both our lives. Come on. Lets pack up and get the hell out of Dodge.”

They leave, but follow the case via their sources in the police department for the next couple of months. It never gets solved.

* * *


	25. Left to his own devices...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha's lifestyle comes with constant vigilance. What he choses to do with what he sees is not always a given.  
> (Chapter that has no bearing on the plot and can be skipped - but tells us something about his personality.)

* * *

**2011**

* * *

Mid-April

Sasha enjoys travelling by subways and trains if cars are not readily available, or if traffic is clogged up like in many big cities. Subways are for the most part quite reliable and supplies it’s own entertainment in form of people watching. (Theoretically, so does buses. But Sasha hates travelling by bus.) So for this little foray into the city he’d parked his car in the suburban outskirt by the nearest subway station. He’d gone into the city center, stopped to collect the flash drive Mikey had asked for from a contact (it wasn’t his business what it contained so he hadn’t asked) and now he was back in the subway station waiting for his train on a bench. 

It’s 10:37 in the morning, between the rushes. There’s a comfortable amount of people to watch, not overly crowded. Here at the city center there are all kinds. He spies a young scoundrel bump into a man with a suit, apologise, and keep walking. Sasha’s lips twitch in amusement as the young man swiftly takes out the wallet he stole from the suit, removes the cash and drops the wallet in a nearby trashcan before he disappears up the stairs. A gaggle of teenage girls with hair in bright colours stroll by on the platform talking excitedly about some TV show or another. The amount of piercings amongst them is staggering. How they of their own free will can choose to penetrate their skin with metal is a mystery to him. But maybe that’s because any time _he_ is pierced by metal it’s with lethal intent, not meant to adorn. A blue collar is having a discussion with an old lady. People are standing or sitting, avoiding eye contact. Waiting.

A blonde woman in her early twenties coming down the escalator catches his eyes. It’s not her short skirt or glittery dress under the leather jacket that does it, it’s how drunk she is. Probably on her way home from a night of wild partying. The heels on her boots are sky high and she wobbles past him on drunkenly unstable legs and continues down the platform. He follows her with his eyes. How women can walk in such high heels astounds him, always has. It must be some kind of self punishment because it _can’t_ be comfortable. It shows off their legs beautifully though so he’s not complaining. The woman worries him though. She’s walking way too close to the edge for his comfort and the train is bound to come in at any minute.

As if on cue, her heel breaks and she topples down onto the track. Sasha is up and running before most people have even registered what’s happening. His legs are pumping as fast as he can make them. He hears somebody scream by the time he’s level with where the drunk girl fell and the speakers announce the incoming train. He jumps down on the track beside her. She’s unconscious, probably hit her head in the fall. The train is on it’s way in, glaring lights coming closer and it’s horn blaring, filling the station with its warning. A rush of adrenaline and fear lends him extra strength to hoist the girl up on the platform. She’s fucking heavy as a deadweight, skinny as she might be. Then he jumps up himself just in time to feel the draft of the train pass him and its side scrape the sole of his boot, sending another surge of fear through his body.

He points at one of the onlookers that has gathered. “You. Call an ambulance. She has a possible head injury,” he says, checks her pulse and breathing and puts her in recovery position. He points at someone else that doesn’t look too horribly shaken. “You. Come here. Sit by her head and try to wake her up. Even if you can’t, talk to her. Hearing is the first thing that returns.” His orders are swiftly followed as people tend to do in a crisis if someone takes charge. The speakers announce the incoming train on the other platform and he gets up. 

He pushes his way through the crowd as the new train rolls in and gets on it as soon as the doors opens. His heart's still beating fast and his knee throbs from the sprint―short as it may have been―as he finds a seat in the end of the car. Someone has left a newspaper on the adjacent seat. He picks it up and starts reading, spending no more thoughts on what happened after the doors close and the train leaves the platform.

* * *


	26. Saturday Night Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> April 14th - Sasha helps Anna build a railing to her porch. Anna decides to be brave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Barely edited. *tired* Sorry 'bout that.

* * *

**2011**

* * *

April 14th - Saturday

Anna has been at her new school for a week. She is working her ass off to catch up on what she’s missed. She’s still trying to fly under the radar at her new school, not trying to find new friends, but not being left in the cold either. She eats her lunch by the same table every day, listening to gossip about people she doesn’t know and rarely making an input herself, but not being ignored. It could be worse if it wasn’t for Dmitri. Working as hard as she is, she feels constantly drained and she gets these horrible stress related headaches. The painkillers Dmitri bought her works miracles though. Dmitri comes over to keep her company some of the days after work. He fixes small things around the house, does some cooking (he insists she should focus on her studies) and is generally a very pleasant company. They watch a movie or some TV after dinner those days, her snuggled up at his side. He doesn’t stay the night, and on those days he doesn’t stop by he texts her or calls her. It’s nice. It’s _really_ nice.

Today is Saturday and Dmitri came over with a DIY porch railing set. It’s been a wonderful sunny day and Dmitri spent the day putting up the wooden railing while singing along with crappy tunes on the stereo. Anna does _not_ share his taste in music - ‘70s disco hits all the way. She still appreciated watching _him_ listening to it as he had rocked along and danced while he worked. He may not be the most talented dancer, but he wasn’t bad either. And she totally gave him A+ for effort and that hiproll he made when certain songs came on and he’d just stopped working and bit his lip, nodded his head to the beat and with his feet wide apart shamelessly rolled his hips while doing some Saturday Night Fever Travolta thing with his arms. God, he had a booty worth shaking! Especially dressed in bootcut faded jeans that were gratuitously tight over his ass. And when he caught her looking (and laughing) at him he smiled mischieviously, bottom lip still caught in his teeth and eyes sparkling―he looked ten years younger at least! 

For that reason alone Anna would be happy to have the _Bee Gees_ and _Earth, Wind & Fire_ playing all day long. She’d used her new phone to sneak photos of him and even managed to film him while he danced to Saturday Fever without him noticing. Dmitri was so carefree and silly in a macho sort of way. Showing off boyishly by throwing the hammer up to spin in the air and gracefully capturing it behind his back, winking with a self-satisfied smirk before continuing working. It was ridiculous. But funny and charming. She had sat on the porch studying while he worked. His hair dark and curling from sweat wherever it was long enough to allow for it, flattening against his forehead in a way he usually didn’t wear it.

He had taken breaks when he would sit down by the rackety table on the porch and nudge her playfully with his foot, telling her she needed to take breaks or nothing would stick. She caught him giving her appreciative looks at times, smiling at her and winking when that their gazes met. At times he acted totally indifferent and uninterested. More like he saw her in a brotherly or fatherly way. It drove her mad that she couldn't tell if he was flirting or not. Well. He was. But she couldn't tell if he meant it or if it was just friendly. 

She was crazy about him. The more time they spent together, the deeper she fell. It felt like he was all the things she had been missing in her life. She missed her friends, especially Lottie, but he made up for it. Making it feel like she mattered. Like it was important what she wanted, needed, and thought. It felt crazy to discover how unused she was of that. 

So now he was standing on the porch, leaning against the new built railing and looking at the stars. She decides there’s only one way to find out if he’s interested or not. Her heart is beating hard as she sidles up to him and nudges him with her hip. "Hey..."

He looks down at her with a soft smile. “Hey..."

"Thanks for the work you did today," she says and runs a hand over the smooth wood of the rail, biting her lip and looking up at him from under her lashes. 

Dmitri’s eyes tracks the suggestive movement of her hand, wanders up to her mouth, then up to meet her eyes. The corners of his mouth twitch slightly and he lifts a hand to stroke some hair out of her face. Her stomach is a mess of nerves and butterflies. "I enjoyed myself."

"I could tell," Anna says and steps closer. She lays a hand over his bicep and strokes lightly. “Dmitri..."

He captures her hand in his to stop the movement, looking serious. Immediately she has a sinking feeling in her gut. He doesn’t want her. What was she thinking anyway? Trying to make a move on him. "Anna. I like you. You’re very beautiful and young―"

Hurt and insecurity blossoms in her chest. This was stupid. She is stupid. "I'm too young for you, right? Sorry. I just thought―" she says and draws back, eyes downcast and cheeks burning in humiliated embarrassment. But Dmitri’s grip on her hand stops her, makes her look up.

He pulls her in, brackets her between the railing and his body, runs his fingers through her hair. He winds her hair around his fists and tugs lightly, bending her neck backwards so her head is locked into looking up at him. It doesn’t hurt at all, just restricts escape. Her heart speeds up again, butterflies going wild inside of her as he crowds her, warm body pushed up against hers. “Not even close, little Red," he says with a quirk by the corner of his lip. "What I was trying to say before you interrupted me―I like you. You’re beautiful, young, and sexy. Don’t think for a moment that I don't desire you. But you have recently been through a trauma and I don’t want you to think that _this_ is the reason I spend time with you." He rolls his hips against her to demonstrate what he means and her breath hitches. "You deserve better than that and I'm content being just a friend. You owe me nothing." He leans down to let his lips brush hers in a barely there touch. Not even a kiss, it's a tease of a tease. It’s maddening and she wants to push into it, get more contact, but his grip on her hair prevents that. He draws back up. "If we do this you've got to be sure you want this. I'm not to be played with. I don’t want a one night stand or a meaningless fling with you. We do this and you're _my_ woman. I don’t want no freak out in the morning, you get what I’m saying? It’s got to be real or not at all. I enjoy this friendship too much to fuck it up.” Then, with eyes full of humour and lips twitching he jokingly adds “ _Literally._ ” He turns more serious again. “So you got to choose, princess. Don’t start me up unless you’re prepared to follow through. Your choice.”

He’s so much bigger than her. Strikingly so, standing like this. Not only is he tall, but _solid_. All hard muscles under a thin layer of fat that softens up sharp angles. He smells of wood, sweat, sunkissed skin, and a hint of cologne that has almost worn off from working hard in the sun. He has her immobilized with a simple grip on her hair and the press of his body, looking down on her with an intense gaze, waiting for an answer. This close the faint lines around his eyes are visible, born from smiling and squinting at the sun. His eyes catch the faint light from the moon and porch and seems to glow silver of their own behalf. There’s something almost predatory about them that for a fraction of a moment gives Anna a flashback of how he saved her life from the robber by the ATM machine. It sends a thrill through her body. He’s the very epitome of an Alpha male. Strong, capable, caring, protective, confident, and slightly dangerous. “I want this,” Anna says, a bit embarrassed about how breathless she sounds.

”You’re sure?”

” _Yes_.”

A self-satisfied smirk flickers across his face before he leans down to kiss her, letting go of his grip on her hair in favour of gripping her waist instead. She winds her arms around his neck when their lips finally meet. His kiss is surprisingly soft compared to how possessively he’s holding her and it’s friggin perfect.

They make out for at least half an hour before he lifts her up and carries her inside. She wonders what took her so long making her move, but he is definitely worth waiting for. He’s a quiet lover, not talking very much at all and the sounds he makes are rough breaths and hisses mostly. But he’s very attentive, dragging out foreplay, putting her pleasure before his. He’s both rough and gentle combined in a perfect mix. There are some fumblings and errors like always when you have sex with someone new. He manages to get her to climax twice, using his hands. Once before they were even out of their clothes yet. It’s better than she’s used to with Jake. Dmitri makes him seem like an amature. Jake wasn’t bad, but he’d only made her come a few times. It was something she had come to expect not to do when having sex so this was friggin amazing. Not until she was sated had Dmitri stopped focussing on her and let himself go. He sped up until he came with a punched out sound. Anna is deliriously happy as she falls asleep in his arms afterwards. Her last thought is on what he said on the porch. ‘We do this and you’re _my_ woman’. That means she’s got a boyfriend again. She feels really lucky.

* * *


	27. Busted Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jody cancels a date with Sasha.

* * *

**2011**

* * *

Late April

Sasha slams the door shut and heads straight for the basement, feet stomping angrily as he goes. Halfway down the stairs he hears Michael speak up. “Wow. Somebody’s in a pissy mood today.”

The words ‘ _Go fuck yourself_!’ almost comes flying out of their own behalf before he catches himself and just grunts his acquiescence. He reminds himself that Mikey _is_ a Бог брат and not a colleague you could snap at as you pleased. But his subordinative thoughts must be coming off him in waves as he heads straight for the little fridge to get a beer because Michael abandons the maps of Brazil he’s been pursuing and spins around in the chair to scrutinize Sasha. “So what crawled up your ass?” Mikey asks when Sasha opens the bottle and drains half in one go.

”It’s not important.” Sasha dries his mouth on his shirt sleeve and falls down on the fold out couch. He burps, stares at the bottle broodily and subconsciously grabs his pendant in his other hand, rubbing it between thumb and forefinger.

”Maybe not. But when I ask you something I expect an answer, croat,” Mikey says. His face and posture are as amiable as ever, but the tone of voice and wording is a warning.

Sasha lets go of his pendant and rubs a hand over his face. He composes himself and drops the hand to his lap. “Yes, Sir. I had a date with the ladycop, Jody, tonight. But she just called and cancelled. Apparently her friend just went through a rough divorce and was feeling down, she’s coming up to visit. So unless I can find someone to double date within four hours, it’s off.”

Michael shrugs. “So take a pawn,” he says like it’s no big deal.

Sasha scoffs and gives him a disgusted look. “Trust a pawn with my love life? No thank you. Besides, it has to be someone who can be trusted to keep up my backstory, who can behave himself well enough to impress, _and_ who has nerves enough to go on a date with two cops without fucking up or drawing suspicion.” Sasha gestures with his arm in frustration. “It’s not exactly as I have the pick of the litter here, in case you haven’t noticed. And there’s no time to fly in a colleague I trust for the occasion.”

”You’d fly in another croat for a _date_?” Mikey says with an incredulous chuckle.

”Sure. If any of the right ones were available. I’ve worked with some really skilled ones at undercover operations, so why not? We help each other out in private too.” Sasha takes a swig on his beer and makes a sturgeon face. “I mean, there are some of us I wouldn’t trust with tying my shoelaces without stabbing my foot in wild glee,” he concedes with a shrug of a shoulder making Mikey throw his head back laughing. “But some of us are friends and friends help each other out, you get what I’m saying?” 

”You really like this lady cop, huh?” Mikey asks and Sasha hums in agreement but makes a dismissive gesture like it’s not important. “You pursuing her for a serious relationship?”

”Michael, did you forget the part where she work as a law enforcer?” Sasha scoffs. “No. I’m not. What do I have to offer her except lies and a constant threat to her life due to my affiliation? Nothing, that’s what.”

”I don’t know about that, Aleksandr.” Mikey points a thumb at the monitors behind him. “I’d say you’re prime boyfriend material. With the way you’ve been treating Anna―”

”Which part?” Sasha interrupts him irritably. “The undermining of her confidence? The way I’m making her dependant on me? Or perhaps the way I’m slowly killing her with poison?” he says dryly.

Michael’s lips draw down in amusement. “You’ve got a point, but that’s not what I meant.”

Sasha does _not_ want to discuss the turn his and Anna’s relationship has taken. “I know that, but unlike some of my colleagues I’m not willing to live a double life in private too. Not full time at least. I’ve tried that already when I was younger and it fucks with my head. If I’m to share my life with somebody I want it to be with somebody I can actually _share_ it with.” _Like Castiel._ The thoughts comes unbidden and makes him even more irritable as he pushes it down to the dark corner it came from. “I want it to be someone who has my back in a fight, who knows who I am and what I do and who has no moral qualms with it. Who knows the rules of this life and what the stakes are. Who I’m as comfortable with during downtime as under fire. Who won’t be fazed by my fucked up sexual urges and who’ll take a fucking swing at me when pissed off at me but hold no grudges once the argument is resolved. Who knows the thrill of the hunt and the feeling of not fitting in with the rest of the mudmonkeys. Who’s intelligent and funny and makes me see the world through new angles. I want…” Sasha stops mid-rant and drinks the rest of his beer. _The fuck am I doing? This is too fucking personal and none of Mikey’s business._

Michael is chuckling, a gleeful glow in his eyes. “You want a woman that will _take a swing_ at you?” Sasha doesn’t answer. He throws the bottle across the room to land in the wastepaper basket and reaches down to the fridge to uncap another one. “Basically you want a partner,” Mikey says to Sasha’s stoic silence.

”Doesn’t everyone? I get half of that from good friends when I’m lucky enough to be stationed with them but then there’s that element that a friend can’t fulfill, you know? Lets be realistic. True romance isn’t in the stars for the likes of us.” Realising he’s bunched himself together with Michael like they were equals he hastens to go on talking, hoping he hasn’t angered the younger man. “So that’s why when I meet a woman like Jody that could have been the real thing for me in another life, I want to steal a moment or two with her. Nothing wrong with a little indulgence, you get what I’m sayin?”

Michael purses his lips and looks at Sasha with an expression Sasha can’t interpret. Sasha hopes he isn't going to be stuck with some stupid grunt work like surveillance because he spoke out of terms. Many of the Божја браћа had perfected the art of unreadable expressions. You could tell that they were thinking, but not what. There were no emotional tells, or if there were, it wasn’t necessarily the true ones. Mikey runs his tongue over his teeth under closed lips, then leans forward. “Alright. I’ll do it. I’ll date your ladycop’s friend. Call Jody and tell her the date’s on.”

Sasha freezes with the bottle halfway to his mouth and lowers it again. “You sure?” _Well that was unexpected._

”Yeah. Why not? Luci’s in Acapulco and I got nothing better to do. I fit into the description of what you needed. What? You don’t think I can behave myself?” Mikey grins and holds out his hands to his sides palm out. Charming people is his speciality after all.

Sasha isn’t about to look this gift horse in the mouth. He pulls up his phone and makes the call at once. “Hey Jody. I found a date for Donna. So why don’t you two put on something fancy and let us treat you to some fine dining tonight?”

* * *

Four hours later they pick their dates up at Jody’s place and Sasha hasn’t spent a single thought about how this is slip sliding on that knife’s edge with Mikey again. Why should he? Not when Jody is wearing a beautiful black dress that sparkles when it catches the light and he gets to spend the evening talking to her. It’s a great evening. Michael is the perfect charming gentleman, posing as a colleague of his. The restaurant has a dance floor and a pianist playing so they dance too. When they drop the ladies off Sasha gets a goodnight kiss. He has honestly no idea if Mikey steals one too because he’s too caught up with Jody. When he falls asleep that night in his own bed he has a warm content feeling that is all too rare these days.

* * *


	28. Vitriolic Mother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha is left to his own devices while waiting for Anna.  
> (Why am I even writing chapter summaries when they tell you exactly nothing?)

* * *

**2011**

* * *

May

Sasha is sitting at an open-air cafe reading a science magazine special about chemistry (more specifically about some new medicines and their effects on the brain and body), waiting for Anna. He gave her a gift certificate to a manicure and pedicure so she is getting her nails done and he is enjoying some coffee and sun before he needs to go pick her up. Or rather, he’s _trying_ to enjoy it. There’s a whiny fucking bitch talking to her friend at the table next to him making it very difficult.

”...and then I said to her that she should be grateful! It took me 18 painful hours to deliver her, I’ve clothed and fed her for 16 years and this is how she thanks me? By skipping class? My god, I wish I’d never had her. She’ll never amount to anything. You know what she wants to be? A singer! Like she could ever make a living off singing. Pffhah. I told her to get her head out of the clouds and wake up and smell reality..."

Sasha is silently fuming. The gun inside his jacket is begging to spit a bullet into the skull of the woman. 30 minutes of listening to the mother trash talk her daughter was 30 minutes too many. She’s called the daughter a spoiled brat, except to Sasha’s ears it's the opposite. A mother shouldn't call her daughter useless, whore, mistake, shouldn't say she ruined her mother's life and then expect said daughter to be grateful. If the child was so horrible, she was the failure, not the child. 

Sasha likes kids. He doesn't see it as a blessing to be a parent. It’s just a part of life. But as a parent it's your goddam responsibility to help your offspring grow and develop, to become a strong confident adult who knows who they are. Children are not yours to control and shape as you please. They are their own individuals and have distinct personalities from the get go. Sasha counted himself lucky to have been part of the Божја браћаs childhood. To get to help them explore what they enjoy and what they didn't. If you didn't want kids there were options. Abortion or adoption if condoms failed. The words that spewed out this woman's mouth were much more poisonous than anything Sasha had in his stash. He was boiling on the inside. Envisioning breaking every bone in the woman’s body one by one. Usually not his thing but now he would enjoy it. 

"...I'm going to meet her down by the corner of the tattoo parlour in ten minutes..." the woman tells her friend. 

Sasha takes his magazine and leaves. He walks to his car, leaves the mag and takes a ski mask from the trunk. He walks down to the tattoo parlour down the street, hoping it's the right one and scopes the place out. there's a small street just around the corner of it that seems deserted and rarely used. He puts on the mask, rolled up as a beanie, and settles in to wait on the other side of the street. Not many people are moving about so the chance of being seen is low. He hears the click clack from the woman’s heels before he spots her coming. A quick glance around reveals the coast is clear so he crosses the street after she has passed, pulling the ski mask down over his head as he goes. He pulls his gun out and follows the woman to the corner where she stops. Adrenaline is running high as he yanks the woman close and pushes the barrel of his gun against her temple. "Scream and I'll kill you," he hisses into her ear before she gets out more than a squeak, and drags her into the small empty street. 

He itches to shoot her. She’s the reason for people like him existing in the world. Parents failing or not even trying. She’s the reason there are an abundance of lost and broken girls for the _Porodica_ to prey upon. The reason young teens dived headfirst into drug abuse or filled up with rage that spilled over in random acts of violence. "Give me all your money!" he demands, not interested in her money at all. That’s not the point of this. She has started crying, shaking. 

"Please, please don't kill me. Please!" She begs. It has no effect of course. Her faith isn’t sealed yet though. He leaves that up to chance and her daughter's punctuality, hoping she'll be late.

He hits her in the face, hard enough that it will swell into a black eye, but not hard enough to knock out or even concuss. “Shut up you fucking cunt, and give me your money.” What he says is unimportant as long as it scares her and stalls for time. He’s still pointing his gun at her, having dragged her a good thirty meters into the small deserted street. Her hands are shaking badly as she digs for her wallet in her pocket. Her pitiful begs plays on repeat. Sasha keeps an eye on the corner where her daughter is supposed to show up. He hits the woman again. “I said _shut up_! I will fucking shoot you,” he threatens.

She finally gets her wallet out and holds out the money with a shaking hand. She has stopped begging but is crying furiously. He snatches the money from her hand and points the gun squarely between her eyes. “Now you’ll die,” he says as he sees a shadow by the corner where they came from. A girl rounds it and stops dead, eyes going round. “Mom? _Mom!_ ”

He smiles behind the ski mask and says “ _Shit,_ ” for the woman’s benefit, then takes off running to the opposite end of the street. Whatever complaints the mother had she can count herself lucky that lack of punctuality wasn’t one of her daughter’s supposed flaws.

* * *

Back in his car he slowly drives past the street where he left the woman and her daughter. They’re still there. The woman is crying and clinging onto her daughter for dear life. His lips twitch in amusement. The next time she gives her daughter the “You wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for me”-spiel her daughter could throw the same sentiment back at her. He’d like to believe that this makes a difference. That the vitriolic mother would have a wake up call and actually start listening, possibly supporting her daughter. And the daughter hopefully not being a vindictive little shit about it. They could develop a good relationship that’d last for as long as they live.

_That won’t happen of course. It’ll last a day, a week perhaps?_ Then the mother would be back to telling her daughter how she ruined her life by being born. He makes a face of disgust. _Pfft_. He should have just shot her. And it’s not like it’s his business anyway. He was just being a pissy ass about getting his coffee moment spoiled. What does he care about strangers’ family relations, anyway? He doesn’t. He’s just a predator in a world where someone dangled prey in front of him when he was relaxing. Mikey is wrong in his assessment of him being idealistic. Besides, the horrid hag would probably end up placing the blame for the incident on her daughter anyway. “If I didn’t have to meet up with you at that corner it never would have happened!”

He takes the money he got of the woman out of his pocket to gauge how much it is. About a 100 dollars. _Well why not spend it on something nice?_ He stops the car at a supermarket and goes inside to do some shopping before he’s to pick up Anna.

* * *

By the time he’s outside the nail salon where Anna is getting her nails done he has a nice picnic basket for them in the backseat. She comes out and opens the car door with a smile so radiant he finds himself beaming right back at her. “Had a nice time, princess?” he asks and leans over to give her a kiss as she enters the car. In a way it’s cruel to call her princess. She likes it and responds well to it but she can never _be_ his princess. It serves to remind him not to get attached (well. _Too_ attached anyway) and that he’s doing this so his real princess can be free. Every time he calls her ‘princess’ it’s naming the reason she’ll die - paying the price for her brother double crossing the _Porodica_. His true pet name for her, ‘little red’, is purely affectionate.

“Yes. It was really nice. And look!” Anna holds out his hands, showing off her newly made nail extensions, decorated and painted with glittery flowers and swirls in soft pink and purple hues. There’s even a tiny piercing hanging from one nail.

“They’re beautiful. Works of art. Money well spent,” he tells her and means it. “But it’s going to be hard to do any chores with these...” Anna’s face falls a bit so he adds “...so I guess you’ll have to put me to work instead, huh?” He winks at her and her eyes get their twinkle back.

“Watch it, big boy. I might just pick you up on that,” Anna says with a mischievous grin and puts on her seatbelt.

Sasha shrugs a shoulder. He don’t mind helping out a bit extra if it makes her happy. “So. You’ve got any plans after this, because if you don’t I was thinking picnic in the park?”

“I’d love that. But I was thinking of auditioning to Arsenic and old Lace and need to read the play…”

“Can’t you do that outside?”

“Well, yeah. But wouldn’t it be boring for you?”

He smiles reassuringly. “I’ve got my own reading. Don’t worry about it. You got the play with you or do we need to stop somewhere and buy a copy?”

“I’ve got it in my bag, but thanks for offering.” Anna gives him another one of her brilliant smiles. She has finally started acting comfortable with him buying her stuff. He likes that. He likes giving gifts when he’s in a relationship, always has. Even if their relationship isn’t real. It is for Anna and that’s the important part. He is not a fan of the idea of accepting gifts is shameful for women. Unless it’s a strict business transaction he can’t see why people would think that buying something for a woman would somehow obligate her, or make her less capable of buying it herself. For him it doesn’t matter if a woman spends her time and body with him just to be spoiled either. He doesn’t see the term ‘golddigger’ as something bad or scorn worthy. (Not that Anna is one, but if she was he wouldn’t mind as long as she kept herself to him alone.) It’s a way to survive and thrive as good as any other.

Three hours later finds them on a blanket in the shade of a big tree. Sasha is leaning against its trunk finally reading his magazine while slowly stroking Anna’s hair in his lap. They’ve eaten an assortment of fresh fruits and drunk some too sweet low alcoholic bubbly that chicks tend to like. Castiel would probably have liked it too. Sugar was the food of angels after all according to him, and he was named after one. Sasha huffs in annoyance. Being with Anna makes him think of Castiel all too often.

“What?” Anna asks and tilts her head up from the play to look at him.

“Nothing. I just…” Sasha puts the magazine down. “I’m going to be working a whole lot this summer. I’ll have to be away, sometimes for weeks at a time.” _Because Mikey gets bored when he doesn’t have hockey to distract him and likes to drag me along._ Truthfully, Sasha enjoys working with Michael so he doesn’t mind one bit. But he can’t exactly tell Anna why he’s _really_ annoyed.’ _Hey Anna, I can’t stop thinking about your brother when we’re together and it’s pissing me off._ ’ Yes that’d go over well and without any follow up questions. “I was thinking, would you like to go with me to Hawaii for a week at the end of the summer? Take a vacation? It’d be something to look forward to.”

_Straying from plans. Good job there, Sash._ Unplanned or not, it isn’t a bad idea. Mikey had asked him to come along for a visit to the Heart, which meant he’d be away for a week, possibly longer. Chances were that that wouldn’t be the only trip they’d do together. He wouldn’t be around to control what happened in Anna’s life thus giving her a fixed point in the future with something fun to do with him would make her less inclined to break it off and make his job harder. And if he felt like giving her something nice and truly indulgent before her body started giving up on her, nobody needed to know. 

Inwardly he smiles. It’s no difference from Mikey’s hidden charity work, hidden in tactics. He _likes_ Anna. He’d never choose to date a woman like her left to his own devices. He’d go for a woman like Jody. Strong, jaded, independent and warm. Anna was too innocent and naive. But those were features that could be remolded just like he was reshaping her now. She had inner strength and courage. She pulled herself together very fast after traumas and adapted to change quickly. She would be as easy to pull _up_ as she was being pulled down now. He likes that about her and thinks she deserves some treats before she dies. So nothing stops him from give with one hand what he takes away with the other. He knows that most likely his kindness towards Anna would make her take the betrayal much harder when it came. Possibly doubting all their time together. Thing is, he doesn't see it that way. The way he sees it, any given moment counts. If you're happy right now, but miserable in two days time, it doesn't make the happiness you felt today evaporate. You would still have experienced it and nothing can take that away.

“I could never afford that, Dmitri,” Anna says with a chastising tone and a smile.

Sasha scoffs like he’s been offended. “If I ask you to come along I’m hardly expecting you to pay for it, now am I?” He tugs at her hair lightly. “I’ll save up for the both of us. We can run away for a little bit just you and me. Sand between our toes, big fruity drinks, try our hands at surfing or just laze around, whatever you want, little red. Besides, it’d give me something to daydream about while I’m off working and can’t be with you.”

Anna sits up. “You sure it isn’t too expensive? ‘Cuz I’d really like that. I’ve never left the state before.”

“Of course I’m sure. I want you to come,” he reassures and gives her a winning smile.

Anna makes a happy sound and crawls into his lap, straddling him, her reading forgotten. “Thank you! I’d love that,” she beams, wraps her arms around him and kisses him. She’s all soft lips and hungry mouth. His arms comes around to encircle that tiny little waist of hers, dragging her closer.

“Good. Then maybe we can get some more meat on these bones,” he says and pinches her ass playfully.

Anna laughs and punches his shoulder. “You’re an asshole,” she says grinning.

“I know,” he smirks and strokes her thighs up under her skirt, thumbing the lining of her panties. “But you’re making this asshole very turned on by sitting like this.”

“Oh yeah?” Her eyes sparkles with teasing mischief and she rolls her hips against his crotch.

“Do that again and I’m going to get hard,” he warns but nevertheless grips her hips to grind her against himself again.

She bites her lip to withhold a laugh, then leans in to kiss him again. “I can live with that,” she breathes against his lips.

He chuckles. “So can I princess, but I don’t think the public can.” He nods his head towards a family sitting on the grass not to far away, the mother giving them outraged looks and the father giving Anna looks that are far from outraged.

Anna giggles and hides her head in the crook of his neck before looking up at him again. “So lets take this show someplace else,” she suggests.

* * *

Much later they’re laying in Anna’s bed, Anna sleeping soundly tucked into Sasha’s side. Sasha can’t sleep. He’s staring on a crack in the ceiling. His head is full of thoughts he refuses to think, pushing them down as soon as they begin to form. There are moments when Anna reminds him too much of Castiel despite them not really looking alike. Her naked on top of him, riding him in the semi-darkness, looking down at him with blue eyes dark and hooded with lust, had sent a vivid flash of the last night with Castiel running through his mind. It was her eyes that triggered it and while he had shoved down feelings and thoughts too deep to have them plague him the uneasiness lingered, along with it insomnia. He turns his head and stares at the point where the bedroom camera is hidden. On impulse he raises his hand not holding Anna and makes a gesture. “ _Get me out._ ” It’s stupid really. A battle signal for when you’re caught behind enemy lines unable to get out without backup. It’s not like Mikey would be watching him while he spent two hours looking at the ceiling. Not even Mikey would be that creepy. And it’s not unpleasant to lie like this. Not really. Besides, it's what’s inside his head he can’t get away from.

Sasha’s phone rings and startles him. It wakes Anna up too and she blinks sleepily when he answers. It’s Mikey. “ _There’s been a security breach in sector five. I need you to come in at once._ ”

“On my way,” he answers and hangs up. “I need to get to work,” he tells Anna and kisses her forehead.

“Yeah, I heard,” she mumbles.

He distagles himself and tucks her in. “Go back to sleep. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?” Anna grumbles something incoherent grumpily that makes his lips twitch in amusement before he gives her a last kiss on the temple.

He’s dressed and back in his car within three minutes. His phone rings again as soon as he has closed the car door. “You okay, Aleksandr?” Mikey asks. He almost sounds worried. Sasha snorts in amusement. _I’ll have to revise what level of creepiness he’s at._

“I’m…” _fine_ “...lets say I wouldn’t be disappointed if we had a sector five and there _was_ a security breach,” he admits instead.

Mikey sniggers. “In that case, let’s find someplace which _has_ a sector five and breach it, shall we? Pick me up at the Garrison.”

Sasha looks at the clock. It’s 01:12 AM. _Don’t you ever sleep, Mikey boy?_ “Yes, Sir. Be there in ten.” As fucked up as it is that Mikey by all appearance had been watching him (a fact that does scare him a bit. _Why_ had he been watching?) Sasha is grateful for the offered distraction. When his body is crawling with unease like this, his jar of goodies call to him to delve right back into the drugs that almost cost him his life when he was young. Not something he should do ever again. He sends a thought of gratitude for the Бог брат's apparent insomnia and unsettling interest in Sasha’s doings. 

* * *


	29. Life on the Road is Lonely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May - Michael and Sasha are heading for a family dinner at the Heart and make a stop to meet up with one of the brothers flying in from Australia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings for this chapter:**  
>  \- Possible inaccuracies of Russian history.  
> Sorry about that. The research I did on this was limited and I only used one source. (Wikipedia) I did _no_ research about the _local_ living conditions in St. Petersburg during the time period mentioned. Just grabbed a couple of facts that fit in with what I needed and went with it. I would like to blame possible inaccuracies on this being an AU, but really, it’s just me being lazy.  
>  **Notes:**  
>  Guys! I just realised Sasha made a slip up on his cover story in this. XD I don't remember what age he's supposed to be according to his fake ID, but he's posing as a fair bit younger than he is so something he says does not fit with his cover. *grins* I am not going to change that. He tells lies - he better keep track of them himself. Not that it makes a difference as the error slips by undetected. I just found it interesting to see him make that mistake to someone who've seen his ID. Oh well...

* * *

**2011**

* * *

May

Interrogating Sam about Michael was a major misdemeanor from Sasha’s part. It was also self-preservatory. Sasha had been too young to work for the _Porodica_ during the Purge when _Otac_ decided to have all “his” children killed, but it was something often discussed amongst the Croatoans. (In hushed voices in dark corners of course.) It was unknown how it would affect them if another Purge came. Or worse, if the Божја браћа started to fight amongst themselves again. A possibility that became very real the day that _Otac_ ordered Leo killed for loving his girlfriend, and then even more so when Lucifer turned rebellious after the death of his dog. As long as the Sin-Božji kept unified there was no doubt about where the Croatoans’ loyalty lay. But if the brothers should start to fight amongst themselves? The whole system would crumble.

This was the ultimate flaw in the _Porodica_ as far as Sasha is concerned. _Otac_ might be running a tight ship business-wise, but he was mad and ruined everything he touched. Infected it with his madness and punished his so called sons for showing any true traces of humanity towards outsiders harshly. Sasha grew up in Soviet during the Brezhnev era in a rundown part of town. There was an overhanging threat to be arrested for any small matter that was unsuitable according to the government. You never knew who would rat you out―neighbours, friends, family―could be anyone. Sasha quickly learned not to trust people and to be on his toes about the undercurrents in his surroundings. He listened to western music and Russian bands and singer/songwriters that were critics of the regime. He wore smuggled jeans. He stole and cheated to get by. He was marked for a life (or death) in prison before he even hit his teens. The constant fear of squealers made it very important to guard what you said or did even amongst those closest to you. He saw the same thing happening in the Sin-Božji family. The brothers all loved each other because they were _required to do so_. In reality it was impossible for them to feel as warmly towards all of their siblings (all in all, there were 32 living brothers after all) as they were vastly different as persons. Yet fear of being reported to _Otac_ for thinking or acting the wrong way kept them together and made them guard their tongues even amongst themselves. Leo had confessed to being in love to the wrong brother. If he hadn’t he might not have gotten caught. ( _Who_ the rat had been was still unknown to Sasha.)

”Hey Chaadayev! Long time no see,” the blond man walking towards him in the hotel corridor calls out smiling. 

Sasha straightens and smiles politely, shaking the outstretched hand offered. “Бог брат,” he says respectfully. Sasha used to play a guessing game with himself when he was stationed at the Heart. Trying to guess which of the Божја браћа (if any) were full siblings. Adirael Sin-Božji was tall, blond, had ice blue deep set eyes and heavy eyelids. The resemblance to Lucifer was striking despite the ten years separating them. He was the oldest living Божја браћа, born just one year after the Purge ‘75. He was also one of the Sin-Božji you had to be _very_ careful around. There was certainly no going off the records with him.

”Mikey here yet?”

”Yes Бог брат, he is waiting for you.” Sasha opens the door to the hotel suite for the man and then follows him inside, closing the door behind them. He takes up position by the wall, hands clasped behind his back and staring at a fixed point in space―becoming props waiting for further instructions. _A fly on the wall._

Michael is in the process of pouring himself a drink when they enter. He looks up and cracks a sunshiny smile. “Addi!” A couple of strides has them meeting halfway in a tight embrace. “Fuck, it’s good to see you again,” he says into the shoulder of the taller man, then places a kiss on his temple.

Addi cups Michael’s cheek and kisses him on the mouth, chaste but lingering, then leans their foreheads together. The affection shown by the Sin-Božji family in private was quite a bit more physical than within most families. Maybe not as physical as this display would lead one to believe though. At least not amongst all of them. For any Croatoans who had been stationed at the Heart there was an unspoken ‘ _Don’t ask, don’t tell_ ’ policy about what they saw. “You too, Mikey. How’s Luci? Still moping about that mongrel of his?”

Michael chuckles and untangles himself. “Naah. He’s over that. He’s good. Doing small gigs and got his head stuck on hockey. But you know him. He’ll still hold a grudge until the end of the world on principle alone. He doesn’t really care about the dog anymore.” Michael grins like it’s funny, lying through his teeth. _Okay, so he too is careful around Adirael these days. Good to know._ “How was the flight from Down Under?” Michael asks and goes to fix a drink for his brother.

”Long. Boring. A day of my life wasted. Looking forward to seeing the rest of the family though. You sure you can’t coax Luci to come to the dinner? I miss him.” Addi takes the offered tumbler of cognac and raises it in salute before drinking.

Michael shakes his head. “I can try,” he says dubiously. He leans against the back of the large couch. “How’s married life working out for you?” he says, raising his eyebrows in question before sipping his own drink.

Addi lets out a long suffering sigh. “Ugh. I can’t believe _Otac_ forced me into it. Keeping up appearance isn’t _that_ important. And I’m certain we could have sealed the deal some other way.” He makes a grimace in distaste. “So now I’m stuck with a fucking mudmonkey bitch at home who doesn’t know her place and wants to play house. I don’t get why she won’t just take a lover and leave me the fuck alone.”

Michael chuckles. It sounds forced to Sasha’s ears but Addi doesn’t react to it. It’s possible Sasha is reading too much into it. Addi walks up to Michael, kicks his legs apart enough to slot himself in between them, rest an arm languidly over Michael’s shoulder and keeps talking. “But enough about the hag. How are _you_ holding up in that small backwater shit town you’re stuck in?”

”It’s not that bad,” Michael says with a grin. “I like it there. It’s nice to get a rest from it all.” _Lying through his teeth again._ Sasha stoves away that knowledge for further examination later.

Addi snorts. “Bullshit. You’re not the small town type, Mikey. You should be swathing yourself in luxury in some big city, I _know_ you like that. And ‘rest’? You don’t think I know you act as an unofficial advisor to most of us over the phone? I talk with the others too, you know. You’re more or less co-running Russia and South America with Babyface and Saul.”

”Yes but that’s just second hand work. I don’t actually _do_ anything myself,” Michael says and sips his drink. “I swear Addi, I like it there.” He leans his forehead against Addi’s chest and turns his head to look at Sasha. “Hey, croat. Can you get us a couple of girls up here? And arrange for dinner to be sent here in about… let’s say one and a half hour? Then you’re off the clock until tomorrow, 8 AM, unless I call for you, okay?”

”Yes, Sir,” Sasha answers with a smart nod and makes himself scarce. Outside of the door he makes a couple of phone calls and stands waiting by the door until a gaggle of beautiful girls arrive. He sends two of them away again, not deeming them beautiful enough and fearing what that will mean for their safety in Addi’s company. They might be insulted now but if they knew the alternative they’d be grateful. He send the rest of the girls in, orders dinner by phone as instructed and heads off towards his own room. On his way there he calls Anna. She picks up on the second ring. “Hey Princess, how are you holding up?”

”Dmitri! I’m so glad you called. I didn’t get the part,” Anna says, sounding miserable. “Somehow, they had heard about the video and said they had a reputation to uphold.”

”I’m sorry to hear that. That’s hardly fair. Did you tell them you were drugged?”

”Yeah actually. But it didn’t matter, they didn’t want me.”

”Then they’re stupid, little Red. I wish I was there so I could cheer you up.” Sasha unlocks the door to his room and throws the key card on the table.

”I wish that too…” There’s a sad smile carrying over in Anna’s voice. 

Sasha lays down on his bed, not bothering taking his boots off. “I’ll make it up to you when I get back,” he promises her.

”I miss you. When will you be back?”

”I don’t know, princess. A week maybe? I’ll come straight to you when I do, okay?”

”Thank you. I’m so glad you came into my life.” 

”Me too. I’ve got to work now. Just wanted to hear your voice. Talk to you tomorrow, okay?” Sasha makes his voice soft and warm.

Anna giggles. _That’s a good girl. Long for me. Feel happy when I talk to you._ “Okay. Take care.”

”You too. Oh and Anna?”

”Yeah?” 

”I love you.”

Sasha can practically hear the silent squee of happiness and the face splitting smile on Anna’s face over the static on the line. “I love you too,” she says. That’s what she will think about while he’s gone and he knows it. His declaration of love. Something her ex had denied her despite dating far longer than Sasha and Anna had been.

After they’ve hung up Sasha heaves a tired sigh and drags a hand over his face. If all went well he was free until 8 AM. How would be a good way to spend that time? He could call for a couple of girls for himself but that thought just made him tired. Absentmindedly he drags his angel pendant back and forth in the seam of his mouth while he thinks. He know what he wants to do. The question is if it’s a good idea or if he’s only torturing himself? In another life perhaps, but… ...but nothing. Why not? He dials another number on his phone.

”Jody Mills speaking.”

The smile that spreads on Sasha’s face is a genuine one. “So I’m in town. And all I can think about is one gorgeous, vibrant, intelligent, funny, and sharp police officer…”

Jody chuckles with sceptical amusement. “Dmitri. What do you think all that flattery is gonna get you?”

Sasha rolls over on his stomach, squeezing the pendant. His smile grows larger. “Hopefully your company for the evening.”

Jody chuckles again. “You do, huh? Didn’t think I was going to hear from you again.”

That bone tired feeling makes itself known again and he sighs deeply. “What can I say? Life on the road is a lonely life.” He shakes himself to rid himself of melancholy, sure she had heard it in his voice. “Anyway, I haven’t had dinner yet. So what do you say, Jody. Care to join me for steak and some beers? A warning though, I’m on standby in case something happens.”

”Aren’t we all?” Jody says dryly and Sasha chuckles. “Well, you’re in luck, cowboy. I was just about to start cooking and today has been a shit day at work so any excuse for getting out of that chore is a good one. As long as it’s a come-as-you-are kind of offer you’re makin.”

”Sure is, princess.”

” _Pffft!_ Princess? _Really_ now?” The dry scepticism in Jody’s voice makes Sasha laugh out loud. He can _hear_ the raised eyebrow.

He makes an amused sturgeon face and shrugs a shoulder despite her not being able to see it. “You’re right. Probably more like... Xena, warrior princess. She is, what is it that kids say these days? _Rad_?”

”Yup. Sounds like me alright.” Her voice tells him she is smiling and he wonders if she is grinning as wide as he is.

”Pick you up in an hour?”

”Alright. See you then.”

* * *

Unlike last time Jody’s wearing jeans and a plaid shirt and has her hair collected in a ponytail but she is just as beautiful. “New car?” she remarks as Sasha holds the door to the black Volvo station wagon for her and gives her a kiss on the cheek.

”You know how it is. You leave the car to a mechanic to fix a broken tail light and all the sudden they need to replace the whole engine,” he says with wide smile and winks at her. He’s not exactly nervous. It’s mostly anticipation. He’s been looking forward to seeing her again. It warms his chest to see her return smile. It tells him the feeling is mutual.

* * *

Two hours later they’ve eaten and are sitting by the table in the Texas style restaurant, drinking beer straight out of the bottle and talking about everything and anything. His current cover story as an ex military working in private security allows him to speak somewhat truthfully about things he has experienced in life and her job as a cop makes it possible for her to relate. He feels neither old or tired at the moment. He really likes this woman. In another life he might have pursued a long term relationship with her. Croatoans do occasionally get married. But it’s not something he wants. The threat that brings, the lies that have to be told… It’s not what Sasha wants to offer a partner. No. She’d have to be in on it, like Castiel was. It doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy this though. At the moment Jody is telling him about a string of murder cases they had last year.

”At first we thought it was some kind of animal by the wounds. Like they’d been torn open with teeth. All by the jugular. They’d been emptied of blood which was really strange. Then we found one body with it’s head cut off and after that the murders just stopped. Eighteen people dead in total during four months. We never caught the killer. The theory is that it was some kind of copycat because we found out that there have been similar cases over the years both here and in Canada. I was quite shook up about it to be honest.” 

”I’d say worldwide. Back in the 70’s in Russia something like that happened in St. Petersburg where I grew up. Eleven deaths and it ended after a twelfth body had been found with it’s head severed,” Sasha says and sips his beer. “But as I remember it they were not only emptied of blood, they were missing organs too. We kids had theories about monsters.” 

”Well you were not wrong,” Jody says. “Whoever does such things are monsters.”

Sasha shrugs and makes a sturgeon face to concede to the point. He has no trouble keeping a straight face despite his line of work. It wasn’t the _Porodica’s_ doing anyway.

”So what’s the deal. A girl in every port?” Jody asks with a raised eyebrow, changing topic.

Sasha smiles and shakes his head. “I’m not celibate. I have my share of one night stands.” _Most of them whores._ He doesn’t say that. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “But the women I want to just talk to or hope to wake up next to are few and far between. With my job, I can’t make promises. My job takes me all over the world, often for extended periods of time and my schedule may be changed on a day to day basis. I have to steal moments like this when I have a chance.” He smiles and winks at her. He’s not out with her merely hoping to get laid. She’s a sharp lady. She deserves the cards on the table so she can choose what she wants to do accordingly.

”Life on the road is lonely, huh?” she says smiling and bending her head backwards a bit, giving him an appraising look.

”It is.” His hand goes to his pendant of it’s own accord.

She studies him silently for a while. Then she smirks teasingly. “So cowboy, you paid for dinner. How ‘bout I make the breakfast?” 

Sasha’s responding grin could split his face.

* * *


	30. The Butterfly Effect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha has an hour to spare. It leads to an unexpected conversation with a young stranger.  
> (Yet again a chapter that has no baring on the general plot.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:**  
>  \- discussions of suicide.  
> \- I dunno. I guess there might be some other warnings but I don't know what.
> 
> **Notes:** The details Sasha provides about jumping is as told to me by a policeman with 30 years of service when talking about scenes he's attended with failed (and successful) suicide attempts.

* * *

**2011**

* * *

June

Sasha spots the guy on the roof while driving down the street. He looks at the clock. He has an hour to spare before the soccer game he wants to watch starts. He fingers his pendant absently and parks the car across the street from the building. It’s a three storey building, the kind with a flat roof surrounded by a railing. The guy is standing on the low ledge outside the railing, leaning out and looking down. He’s young. Can’t be more than twenty tops. 

_A bit too young to try your hands at flying, boy,_ he thinks while dragging the pendant back and forth in the seam of his lips. He wonders if the guy is dead set on taking his own life and has planned it for a long while, or if it’s a spur of the moment thing. He lets go of the pendant and opens the glove compartment, taking out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He pockets them and gets out, locks the car and makes his way over the street to the building. It’s an apartment building and the door is locked but easily picked. Once in he takes the stairs up to the roof. He walks towards the guy from behind. The young man hasn’t noticed him, too intent on gathering courage.

“It’s not high enough,” Sasha says and leans against the railing 5 feet away from the guy, looking out over what’s visible of Angel Falls from here. It’s a nice view.

The guy startles and nearly loses his balance, gripping the railing behind him tighter. “Stay away from me! I’ll jump,” he yells and stares panicked at Sasha.

“Yes I got that. It’s no good though. I told you, it’s not high enough,” Sasha tells him and digs up the pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

“ _What_?” The guy stares at him like _he’s_ the mad one. As if suicide isn’t the ultimate madness. 

“The human body is more resilient than you think,” Sasha answers and taps out a cigarette, then holds out the pack in offer. The guy, younger than Sasha thought at first, brown hair, a couple of pimples, lanky but sympathetic looking, shakes his head, brows drawn down and eyes wide in a disbelieving expression. Sasha shrugs a shoulder like he doesn’t care either way, lights his cigarette and puts the pack away. He doesn’t smoke often but manages to keep from coughing. “A fall from this height is less likely to kill you than you think. You’ll have to make sure you land on your head. But most people just take a step out, feet first. At this height you don’t have time to spin in the air so you land with your bottom half first, you get what I’m saying?” The guy just stares wide eyed at him, totally bewildered. Sasha takes another drag on the cigarette, looking out over the town. You can see both mountains and the lake from here. He continues in the same conversational tone. “Your legs will be splintered like dry twigs, a couple of inner organs will rupture, most likely you’ll break your spine and a couple of ribs. It will be painful beyond belief. But you won’t die. You need to get higher for that. At this height…” he gestures vaguely downward, “...you’ll end up in a wheelchair for the rest of your life. Your body will absorb the worst of the impact, sparing the head from irreparable damage.” Which was true. The damage might be even less. Third storey was all but laughable. “You need at least double this height to guarantee a quick and painless death. I’d recommend a ten storey building or higher.”

“Jeezus. You’re insane." 

"Hey now. I'm not the one contemplating a flying leap into disability," Sasha says and puts the cig between his lips. _I wonder…_ He grips the railing with one hand and takes a swift jumps over it while looking at the kid. He sees the guy’s breath hitch in terror the split second Sasha is hovering over the edge of the roof, nothing but a crippling drop underneath. Then a tug of his hand has him back to safety again, this time on the wrong side of the railing. A little bounce on the ledge and he's sitting comfortably on top of the rail, feet dangling nonchalantly over the drop. It’s all a show to gauge the guy’s reaction to someone else in danger. The kid had reacted by taking a step closer and doing an aborted movement to grab on to Sasha. Sasha’s lips twitch in amusement. _Not too jaded by life yet not to give a shit yet, huh? I can work with that._

“What do you care anyway?" the young guy snaps, anger creeping into his voice to hide the scare Sasha’s little jump gave him. 

“I'm just curious, that's all. What would drive a kid your age, literally, over the edge. Personally, even if I was brain dead, lying in a coma for years, the person who pulls the plug on me better hope that death is final or I'll come back to haunt him and destroy everything he ever loved just to avenge that what's the most precious to me was stolen." Sasha takes a last drag on the cigarette and flicks it over the edge. 

“You gonna give me the 'you got so much to live for'-speech now?" the guy says bitterly and follows the descent of the cigarette butt with his eyes. 

Sasha chuckles and casts an amused look at the boy. "Why would I do that? I don't know you or what you have in your life worth living for."

"I've got nothing, that's what." The guy shifts his focus to Sasha now. ”Everything is pointless. I can’t do anything right. Everybody hates me. Mom beats me―"

"Yes, they do that," Sasha agrees.

"No they don't," the guy protests with a scrunched up face.

"Statistics show that all mothers of the present company on this roof does it," Sasha jokes. 

The guy makes an odd startled noise bordering on a disbelieving laugh and looks at Sasha like he was an alien. He gives himself a shake. “Dude. It doesn’t matter. Nobody cares. Nobody cares about me. I don’t matter to anyone."

"You don’t know that."

"Yes I do."

"No. You can’t know that. Not if you factor in the butterfly effect.” Sasha makes a sturgeon face. “Maybe no one cares about you. Maybe you're a fucking asshole who torment everyone around you―"

"I'm not!"

"―making them hate you," Sasha goes on as if the guy hadn’t spoken. “I don’t know since I don't know you. But I know with a 100% surety that you matter to people due to the butterfly effect."

"And what's that?" 

"It’s chaos theory. They say that a butterfly flapping its wings on one side of earth can unleash a thunderstorm on the other side. While that may be a bit of an exaggeration it still stands. Every interaction you have with people matter and may change the course of history." Sasha likes that thought. That anything you did could lead to anything. Things you couldn't even begin to foresee or intend. It was his old mentor who'd introduced that thought to him back in the days when he was a new recruit. His mentor had confessed that that was what helped him sleep at night.

"Yeah, right,” the guy scoffs. 

“It’s true, you know? want examples?” 

The guy nods and hesitantly comes a bit closer. Sceptical but with his curiosity piqued. It’s all for the good. Sasha can’t give him the _everything-will-get-better_ -speech because he doesn’t believe in it. If there’s one fact he has learned in life it’s that things can _always_ get worse. Add in a dash of Murphy’s law in the mix (if anything can go wrong - it will) and you had the general recipe for life. But come on. The guy is what? 17? If he _really_ wanted to die he would not let himself be distracted so easily. He wouldn’t care enough. Most likely he just didn’t want to live the way he currently did and that was something more easily changed than people thought.

"One guy dupes the mafia and disappears. They want revenge. So they tracks his sister down on the other side of the earth and kills the sister instead. The siblings had never met, yet the action of the older brother led to the death of his kid sis." The guy looks sceptical. _Okay, too far removed from my world to buy into that_. "About ten years ago an arsonist killed five whole families by setting fire to their homes. Only a teenage boy survived. He grew up to become a fireman, saving hundreds of people." _And what a shame it had been to put a bullet in his head. How do you rack up a gambling debt over a million anyway?_ "So the pointless violence of the arsonist inadvertently led to the lives of many more being saved. Another example that actually has butterflies in it... " Sasha swings a leg over the railing, straddling it facing the guy who now lever himself up to sit on the railing. Sasha takes out his cigarettes and lights a new one. He offers one to the kid who hesitantly takes it this time. _Way too easily distracted to really wanting to die, aren’t you, boy?_ Sasha helps him light it before he goes on, deciding to spice up his language a bit.

“I was stationed in Nicaragua at the time. We were trekking through the fucking jungle, searching for enemies." The kid would think it was military business, which it wasn't, but close enough. "One thing you got to know about fighting in the tropics is that the people shooting at you is not the worst thing. It’s bugs. Insects. I fucking hate bugs. Ants, bees, wasps, they're _everywhere._ And they build nests under fucking leaves on the ground. One misstep and you got a swarm of angry wasps chasing you and stinging you wherever they can get at. And don't get me started on mosquitos and gnats. One week in the underbrush of a decent jungle and you’re so full of bites you look like you’ve got the measles," Sasha tells him while gesturing vividly. Sasha holds a personal grudge against bullet ants. Huge nasty fuckers and holy shit, the pain they could inflict. You didn’t have to be an ex-junkie to dream vividly of morphine after a bunch of stings from those huge and vicious fuckers.

The kid laughs softly at Sasha’s animated vehemence and swings a leg over the railing to face him head on. 

“So we're making our way through the godforsaken jungle, right? And I think I hear something. I look around, seeing nothing. Suddenly I feel something on my chest and look down." Sasha grins. "I'm not proud of the next part, okay? Something big and brown moves on my chest, right? Big as my fucking hand, I swear. " He holds out his hand to demonstrate. "So I scream. Kid you not, I screamed high pitched like a goddam girl in a horror movie. Didn’t even know I could hit that note,” Sasha tells him with a laugh. “It was a goddam _butterfly_! Still to this day those I served with back there calls me Captain Butterfly.” _Bastards._

The kid laughs and Sasha takes a drag of the cigarette. He’s only smoking for the kid’s benefit. Cigarettes are an universal currency, and object of bonding. The moment the kid accepted a cig from him he was more than halfway off the roof. He holds up a finger to mark that the story isn’t over while he blows out the smoke. “Now for the butterfly _effect_ in this story.” The young guy is back to full focus, listening like a child being told an entrancing fairytale. Sasha wonders if people never take time to talk to the guy at all or if it’s just listening to an old warrior that does it. “Okay so there’s some really sloping terrain with lots of underbrush and foliage and shit where we were. Not like the densest parts of rainforests where the trees are sky high and sun don’t penetrate enough to clog up the ground with greens. No this was real jungle, you get what I’m saying?” Sasha raises his eyebrows and waits for confirmation, only continuing when he gets a nod. He wants interaction and engagement from the boy. “Now the enemy we were chasing were unbeknownst to us chasing us in turn. And they were used to the terrain and fucking awesome at blending in. One of them had snuck himself into our midst and would have taken us by surprise, but when I shrieked and flailed I scared him, making him leap backwards from his position, lose his footing and tumble down the slope right onto a landmine they themselves had put out and _boom_.” Sasha demonstrates by fanning out his hands in mimicry of an explosion. “The blast shook some nasty stuff out of the trees that should have stayed in the trees which made his companions give up their position. It was a fucking domino effect, so thanks to a butterfly we lived when in reality our chances should have been next to none for the trap we’d walked into.”

“What was it that fell out of the trees?”

“How the hell should I know? I was still freaking out about that goddam butterfly,” Sasha grins making the guy laugh again. “But I’m telling you, the insects are the real enemy.”

“What about spiders?” the guy asks, making a face like he doesn’t really want to hear the answer.

_Some arachnophobia going on there, huh?_ Sasha makes a dismissive motion. “Nah. Spiders isn’t what you need to worry about. Poisonous or not, they’re generally not very aggressive towards humans. Though it seems to be law in the spider kingdom that all webs must be spun at face height above trails,” he says with dry humour, eliciting another laugh, this time a slightly horrified one. “But we’re getting off topic. The point is, you never know how you and your actions matter and to whom. Good actions can lead to bad things, bad actions can lead to good things and so on. Fuck, you can’t even really know if people care or not. We can only gauge what we see and at face value.”

“What do you mean?”

Sasha loves the curiosity in young people. It so often faded as life wore on. “You and me for an instance,” Sasha says and inhales deeply from his cigarette. Without taking his eyes off Sasha the young guy unconsciously copies his movement, another good sign bringing him further from taking that jump. “We’re having a conversation. But we can’t really know what each of us are thinking, you get what I’m sayin? I have a superior that I fucking loathe. Him and me, we have friendly conversations like this.” _Addi. Creepiest son of a bitch of the_ Божја браћа _. Ugh._ And they didn’t really have conversations like this. This guy didn’t need to know that though. “At any given time during that conversation you’ll find me fantasising about how I wish he’d just stop a bullet with his head, if you catch my drift. But he doesn’t know that because I keep it off my face and never say anything about how I _really_ feel about him, right? At the same time I’ve been forced to shoot people that I’d much rather would kick back and have a beer with, but they were on the side of the enemy. They didn’t know my true feelings about them either.”

Sasha chuckles at the guys expression. It’s an expression he has seen many times over the years. The one a person makes when they realise they’re talking to a killer―somebody who has actually honest to god killed people―but they can’t really comprehend the reality of what that really means. It’s a mix of awe, fear, confusion, and excitement. Only people who has never seen death does it. People for whom death is something from action movies and games, something you read about in the newspaper but isn’t anything tangible or real. This kid may have an abusive mother in common with Sasha, but their early experiences were still worlds apart.

“You seem like a bright guy,” Sasha goes on, in reality having no opinion on the matter, or possibly thinking the opposite. He flicks the cigarette off the roof. “I’ll tell you the secret of having a good life.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” the guy asks sceptically.

“There’s only one person you’ve got to make sure likes you. If he does, it doesn’t matter if everyone else hates you. As long as he’s looking out for your interests you can take most crap life throws at you. And that’s the guy in the mirror. If he doesn’t like you, you change how you act until he does. You don’t off the bastard.” Sasha winks and gives the guy a cheeky grin.

“It ain’t that easy,” the guy grouses.

“Who said it’s gonna be? But it’s a lot easier than you think. People tell you what you can and can’t do. They’re wrong. My mom used to beat the shit out of me at times, until I snapped and hit her back. Had a big fight and won. People would say you don’t hit your parents, right? Fuck that. Life is shit? Walk away from it. Literally. Pack a bag and just walk.” Sasha points at the big road leading away from twin towns, winding it’s way through the woods in the distance.”It ain't easy. You’ll be cold, hungry, and miserable at times. You choose if you are going to ask people for help, steal, threaten them, or work hard to get what you need. Sooner or later you’ll come upon a lifestyle or a place that suits you. You may end up dead in a ditch. But then again, that was what you were aiming for anyway, right? Personally, as a method of suicide, I’d go for drugs. It’ll kill you slowly, but you’ll have a blast getting there. Try shrooms and lay on an asphalt road for an instance, and you’ll understand why it takes so long to build roads. It’s because they have to build all these amazing intricate patterns into it.” Sasha grins as the guy makes an incredulous laugh. 

Sasha looks at his watch. "So. It’s been nice talking to you but there's a soccer game I want to see and it starts in ten minutes. You want to come along? I'll buy you a beer."

"I don’t have time..." the guy says hesitantly, seemingly startled by the offer and throwing out the first excuse he could muster but hearing himself what a dumb excuse it is judging by his expression. 

Sasha laughs. “From what I saw you had cleared your schedule for the rest of your life. But it's your choice. I ain't gonna force you. Just saying you're welcome. You can go right back to your perch afterwards, if that's what you really want."

It isn’t. Sasha knew that the moment the guy worried about Sasha’s safety when he jumped over the railing. 

In the end the guy comes along. They watch the game together at a sports bar and Sasha entertains the kid by telling outrageous but true stories about his experiences in actual war zones (to keep up the masquerade of being a soldier) until the guy is in tears from laughing. When they part the kid has a grin big enough to split his face. If he’s going to off himself it is not going to be tonight at least. It may not change anything, but maybe it does, and that's what matters. Maybe his actions will lead to the next Columbine, maybe he just gave the next Gandhi the will to live. Or maybe the guy will find a ten storey building tomorrow and jump from it. Either way, Sasha thinks no more about it.

* * *


	31. All the Things I Crave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> June - Sasha has a bad dream that leads him to slip further onto forbidden grounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings for this chapter:**  
>  \- Mentions of blood kink  
> \- Description of addiction, withdrawal and craving  
> \- Angst  
> \- Bad influence!Cas  
> \- Mentions of a form of self harm. Not cutting, but still, the use of physical pain to mute psychological pain through martial arts.

* * *

**2011**

* * *

June

Heart hammering, Sasha looks at the pill Dmitri is holding out to him. “Come on, Sash. Take it.” Dmitri of course has no idea what he’s offering. _Or_ that Sasha is a sober addict. The pill Dmitri picked out is a real kickstarter. It’ll take effect within minutes of ingestion, maybe less. After that he can say goodbye to all his inhibitions. Like it isn’t bad enough already. They almost got done in this time. The information had been wrong. It had been a setup. So both are riding the high of being alive still, paired with the adrenaline kick. Dmitri is covered with their enemies blood, the scent of it tantalizing. His blue eyes aglow with madness and glazed by the drug he’d been given. Sasha has him pinned up against a brick wall, a hand shoved inside his pants to jerk him off. Sasha is pretty sure both of them crave these post-job jerk off sessions equally now. He is not sure how long ago he stopped rubbing Dmitri off from outside his pants and switched to shove his hand inside instead, when he started pushing himself closer, wanting more contact. He is not sure when he started to think about kissing the younger man while doing it. Or when he started actively fantasizing about repeating the incident in the kitchen without forcing himself on the younger man.

All he knows is that Dmitri has turned into an addiction all by himself. A temptation as bad as the one constantly hanging over him in the form of the drugs he handles. He’s been clean for two fucking decades, never once falling off the wagon. The craving is always there though. And now three cravings are hammering against his shield of self-discipline. 

“Please, _Sash_ , take it. Join me in this.” Dmitri’s expression turns pleading. He grinds his hip slowly against Sasha’s currently unmoving grip on his cock, precome leaking into Sasha’s hand. It’s hot. Who knew there’d be a day when touching another man this way would make his cock ache in response and his heart to flutter. His mouth is dry. As close as they are now the scent of the blood fries his brain. He has never been able to understand why blood affects him this way. It’s been a thing for him long before it got sexual, long before puberty he’d suck on his wounds and scrapes when he got them, revelling in the taste. When puberty hit blood and arousal somehow paired up. He’d jerk off to vampire movies where the vampire used mind control to make the victim willingly let it feed. Even back then consent was the key. There could never be too much blood. And now Dmitri was fucking drenched in it, begging for him to give in to every fucking addiction he had. Sasha is frozen, incapable of stepping away, afraid to give in.

Dmitri drags the pill against the seam of Sasha’s lips. It’d be so easy. Just open his mouth.

“Come on, Sash. Just this once. It’ll be good, I promise.”

That’s just it. It will be _too_ good. He wants this so bad it’s a miracle he’s not shaking for how badly he wants it. And it won’t be just once, will it? If he gives in now he’ll fall right back to where he once was. Dmitri doesn’t know the struggle. He’s never tried to fight off an addiction or gone through withdrawal so bad it almost kills you. He doesn’t know this feeling somewhere in the tract of between belly and chest that just gnaws and sucks and twists and gags for a hit. He doesn’t know how it feels to be fine for a couple of months and suddenly be hit by the longing, the craving out of the blue. How stress, pain, or happiness can ignite it. How when injured he has to choose to go without adequate pain relief sometimes because opioids would fling him right back in again and aspirin won’t help much against a stab wound or a broken bone.

“Join me, Sash,” Dmitri coaxes. “Don’t let me be alone in this.”

It’s _**so hard**_ to say no. He loves this man. He’s tried denying it to himself. But day by day the feeling has grown, wearing him down. He’s still confused about it. If he says yes now he will never be able to say no to his Princess again.

“You and me Sash.” Dmitri licks his lips, his other hand going to Sasha’s crotch, rubbing against his traitorous erection and Sasha bucks his hip in response. _Please, Princess. Don’t ask this of me. Please don’t. Please, I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. You don’t understand. Please._ Dmitri will most likely not even remember this tomorrow. But he will. 

“Come on, Sash. You and me. _Forever._ ”

Sasha opens his mouth and swallows the pill.

* * *

Sasha sits bolt upright in bed, panting heavily and heart hammering painfully in his chest. He’s drenched in sweat, eyes stinging from tears shed during sleep and his mind a confused jumble. A movement in the room makes him yank his gun from under his pillow instinctively and point it at the movement. For a moment he almost thinks it’s Castiel. The same dark hair he has nowadays, lean body, and bright eyes. Then his mind catches up. _Michael_. Still, it takes another moment before he lowers the gun. Michael sits in one of the office chairs, feet on the desk and fingers laced together on his stomach, watching him with concern. “Don’t you have a fucking home of your own,” Sasha snaps and gets out of bed. He walks to the part of the basement that’s empty, ready to be used for storage or whatever, gets down on the floor and starts doing push-ups to work away the lingering dream. He rarely dreams―or if he does, he doesn’t remember. But when he dreams… That last night with Castiel _haunts_ him. And the dreams have been coming more often lately. Ever since he went to Sweden to kill his Princess and found himself unable to take the shot. Coming to Angel Falls made it even worse―working with Anna made thoughts of Castiel surface more often. Right now he’s a mess. Anger, heartbreak, longing, _craving._ He’s gagging for a fix. Anything. He has his jar of ‘goodies’ in his jacket pocket where it hangs over one of the office chairs and it’s calling to him, screaming for him to come and mute his internal turmoil. He throws himself into exerting himself physically to shut out the tantalizing call.

Michael watches him. Despite snapping at him he is grateful for the other man’s presence. It makes it easier to resist the urge to just give in. When it comes this bad he turns to physical exertion instead. Goes for a run, does sit-ups, push-ups, takes it out on a boxing bag, anything. Until his body is aching and exhaustion has rendered him empty. Three days after Castiel left him the withdrawal had kicked in. He’d been fucking bed ridden for three weeks. Shivering cold or sweating by the bucket, suffering from insomnia, nausea, seizures, fever, severe confusion, hallucinations, irregular heartbeats, tremors and anxiety. One would think it shouldn’t have been so bad from one fucking pill no matter how strong it was. Probably a huge part was psychosomatic, caused by heartbreak and repressed trauma blasting him full force through the crack in his shield caused by the withdrawal, thus worsening the effect hundredfold. He counted himself lucky to have been stationed with so many other Croatoans at the time. He’d ordered two of them whom he trusted to keep their mouth shut simply to “ _Keep me alive,_ ” when he felt the first symptoms hit. After that it was all a hellish blur. (You can never trust anybody fully, but what choice did he have?) 

After these dreams he missed Castiel to a level that was almost physically painful. But he was out now, tucked away safely in Sweden. He was free from this life and by what Sasha had seen and the intel he’d received he was no longer abusing drugs. By ending Anna Sasha would release him from all future threats from the _Porodica_ so Castiel could live a good life in the ‘real’ world. He could find a girl and settle down, have kids. Do whatever he wished. His life would no longer be fraught with danger and violence. It was not an option for Sasha. He was too far gone. If he even tried to settle down he’d go mad. He was done for long before he turned 18. His Princess wasn’t raised like he was. He stood a chance to readjust like Sasha never could. He hoped so anyway. He needed it to be true. 

If he’d be eye to eye with Castiel right now he’d beat the shit out of him for subjecting Sasha to this. The betrayal burns as hot as ever, scorching through his veins. He had _loved_ the man. Still does. It just won’t go away. That’s why he let him go, let him slip through the mesh of the _Porodica_ net. He wanted him back by his side but it was his misplaced loyalty and love that bid him to gift the young man his freedom. In these moments directly after a dream he was vulnerable and all his feelings, usually repressed and controlled, came bubbling up. They’d fade soon enough and Castiel would go back to be a theoretical object not a scorching hot poker in his heart.

He pumps his arms faster, goes deep enough with every dip to almost touch the floor with his nose. When he reaches a hundred push-ups he flips over and goes straight to sit-ups.

“I’d ask if you’re okay but I suspect the question is redundant,” Michael says. Sasha just throws him a vitriolic glare and keeps doing sit-ups. He should be more respectful towards Mikey but right now he’s too unbalanced to give a shit. “You know, for a while there I couldn’t tell if you were having a wet dream or a nightmare,” Mikey says. It’s not a phrased as a question but it bears a strong note of curiosity.

“Fuck you,” Sasha spits out. It’d take one hit of one of his goodies to make all this go away and fade into blessed calm and joy. One fucking pill to relieve his nerves and make memories bearable. One pill. At least his eyes doesn’t sting with tears anymore. He hates it when Michael watches him sleep. The Божја браћа had no sense of privacy. They owned the world and the people in it. They knew it as their right to do whatever fuck they wanted and enjoyed unsettling people. Yet what Sasha found more unsettling than Michael watching him to play mind games was the nagging suspicion that he watched for other reasons, that it was those blurred lines coming into play. Ever since their visit to the Heart… Nevermind. He doesn’t need to think about the internal politics of the Sin-Božji family right now.

Michael gets up from the chair and walks over to Sasha. He sits down by his feet and crosses his arms loosely, resting his elbows on Sasha’s knees. Sasha doesn’t stop doing sit-ups. The physical touch is more grounding than he’d expect it to be. Michael’s features are kind and concerned. He doesn’t ask questions, instead he begins counting Sasha’s sit-ups aloud. Another surprisingly grounding thing and Sasha latches onto it. Tries to empty his mind of everything but the touch, his movements and Michael’s voice counting him in. By the time he reaches a hundred he stops. He’s about to fall back but Michael catches him with a hooked hand around his neck and tugs him forward to lean his forehead against Michael’s. “What do you need, Aleksandr? Work or play? Play some Xbox? Watch some TV and have a beer? Beat the living crap out of someone? A good fuck? You need to talk about it? What do you need?” 

He closes his eyes to the intense scrutiny of Michael’s gaze. “What do you care? I’m just a fucking _croat._ ” Croat is the slightly derogatory term only used by Sin-Božji, to mark the inferiority of the Croatoans. Sasha swears he feels Michael vince when he spits out the word.

Michael is silent for a while, then quietly, like confessing a sin, he says “I dream too, you know…”

Sasha opens his eyes and leans back a bit to be able to fully look at the Бог брат. Sure enough, looking back at him are the vulnerable eyes of little boy Mikey, all heart and empathy and repressed anguish. “I...” _I don’t need anything, Sir. I’m fine._ It’s what he _should_ answer. “...could use some brushing up on my hand-to-hand combat,” is what he says, hesitantly, slipping on that sharp knife’s edge again. Sparring will help. Physical blows to the body will replace internal pain with external and it will help drag him to full exertion. He’ll need to focus fully on the task at hand. Friendly sparring is also something that strengthens bonds and that’s the last thing the both of them needs right now. But he’s tired of feeling alone. He’s tired of fighting this shit with no one at his side. Bottom line is―he’s tired. And right now he’s off guard and vulnerable. 

Michael swallows. Possibly battling the same hesitations as Sasha is, then he smiles. “ _That_ I can help with.” He pat-slaps Sasha on the cheek and gets up, holding out his hand to help him up. As Sasha takes it he thinks of knife traps used to kill wolves. You’d freeze a sharp knife in a block of ice, only blade sticking out, and dip the blade in blood. When the wolf licked the blood off it’d cut itself and bleed to death. He wonders if he or Mikey is the wolf in this scenario or if they’re both licking the same damned knife.

* * *


	32. Bullet Gone Astray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Early July - Michael and Sasha are in Windy City to do a low level job to alleviate Mikey's boredom. All does not go according to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Notes:**  
>  A policeman I used to date told me that no matter how much training and experience you have, you never know how you're going to react in a crisis as every situation in unique. You may be cool and professional a hundred times, a thousand, but then the one thousand and first time all the sudden, you're not. At least in this case we understand _why_ professionalism is flushed down the toilet. The reason isn't always this obvious.

* * *

**2011**

* * *

Early July

“Would you look at that filthy mudmonkey whore,” Mikey sneer at a woman bypassing the car. “Disgusting fucking walmart shopper.”

Sasha’s lip twitches in amusement. “I shop at Walmart sometimes.”

Mikey rolls his eyes. “So do I. That’s not the point! The point is, if you weigh 160 kilos you shouldn’t wear peach coloured yoga pants designed for someone half that weight.” He gestures exaggeratedly at the fat woman who has stopped to speak with a friend. “Christ! Just look at her! It doesn’t even cover her butt crack. With a _crop top_ , Aleksandr. A crop top!” He makes a gagging sound.

“She’s got a very pretty smile though,” Sasha offers. She does. She’s also a cow, demonstrating that less isn’t always more. While fat doesn’t automatically equals ugly, this woman is doing her best to make people think it does by wearing the wrong clothes.

Mikey turns his head to look at him in surprise. “ _You’re joking_?”

Sasha, keeping a straight face, shakes his head. “Nope. The smile is pretty.”

Mikey makes a faintly disgusted disbelieving face then looks back at the woman, this time at her face. She’s got that kind of ageless cute apple-cheeked doll like face some fat people have. If she had dressed differently… But she hasn’t so despite her face working for her the overall effect is just repulsive. Mikey tilts his head and scrunches up his face, seemingly really _trying_ to see beyond the ‘Walmart-shopper’ stamp. Then he side eyes Sasha dubiously. 

Inside Sasha is cackling. Outside he’s as straight-faced as ever. He dislikes people who complains all the time. Mikey doesn’t unless he’s frustrated or bored. Right now they’re both, so Mikey is playing the ‘Disgusting-mudmonkeys’-game with each and every passerby and Sasha is playing ‘Find-the-good-thing-that-will-befuddle-Mikey’-game. Whoever Mikey complains about Sasha counters by saying something nice about. One thing Sasha has taken note of though is that Mikey only remarks about things that are pure choices. A girl with a horselike face that made her really fucking ugly passed by. Nothing. Not a peep. But a guy with neck tattoos? Shot down. A boy passing by wearing ill-fitting hand-me-downs. Nothing. A man in really expensive but tasteless clothes was sneered at. Most of the things Mikey said Sasha actually agreed with but it was more fun to pop his judgemental bubble.

Sasha spots a good looking man in an expensive suit and makes a face.

“What?” Mikey ask, jumping on a chance to find something that Sasha would condemn.

“The shoes.”

“You can’t judge a man by his shoes.”

_Watch me._

Mikey’s eyes spark with amusement as if he heard Sasha’s unspoken comment.

“No sense of style,” Sasha clarifies.

“Addi has shoes like that.”

Sasha raises an eyebrow and gives Mikey a dry look. _You’re proving my point._

Mikey laughs, catching the unspoken sentiment again. “Yeah. I hear you. Addi’s got a lot of things going for him. A sense of style is not one of them.” He claps Sasha on the shoulder and then starts drumming restlessly on the steering wheel. 

Waiting is the worst. Sasha shifts restlessly in the car seat. Three hours of sitting still makes his lower back ache. They got their target in sight. A stupid fucking kid selling drugs looking conspicuous as hell and blind (high) enough not to be alarmed by a car parked within sight for three hours with two men in it. The boy, an afro american, could be what? 18? 20 tops. He’s such a fucking amateur Sasha’s getting a headache just watching. This is about the lowest tier turf war. Nothing Sasha or Mikey should even be looking at. The boy belongs to a newly established gang that has begun to sell drugs in a neighbourhood in the city where another gang is already the top dog sellers. The other gang gets their drugs from the _Porodica_ , this gang doesn’t. This is on such low level that ‘their’ gang doesn’t even know who they’re selling for. This is a job the lowest kind of pawns are supposed to do. But Michael needed to kill something. Hence, they’re here. They’ll follow the boy to the gang’s hangout when he’s done and wipe them all out. Apart from weapons they’re ‘armed’ with fake police badges. Detective Barnes and Detective Noble, because sometimes Mikey has a shit sense of humour. _Finally_ the boy decides to pack up and go. Mikey starts the car and follows.

* * *

Ten down, two to go. The gang should learn that rule number one of selling drugs is not to take any themselves. It had been a friggin execution. Most of the people in the apartment had been so high they were barely conscious when Mikey and Sasha broke in. The others had needed a moment to catch up on what was happening. A moment is too long when dealing with professional killers. They had two runners though. Mikey had gone after one and Sasha was in pursuit of the other. He’d gone out the window to the emergency stairs and was fast as hell. It was like chasing a hare and Sasha couldn’t get a clear shot. The bastard throws an iron pipe at him while descending the rickety stairs. Sasha ducks and feels himself slip, his ankle bending painfully. He manages to grab a hold of the hand bar and right himself with a surge of fear. A fall from this height might be fatal. Adrenaline is flowing, he ignores the pain in his ankle and keeps chasing the guy downwards. The ladder from the last landing is broken and the young guy jumps, landing smoothly, and keeps running. Sasha shoots twice but misses, then takes the jump himself. The pain in his ankle when he lands almost takes his breath away. He ignores it and keeps running, pain shooting up his leg with every step. He’s chasing the guy down an alley and losing ground on him. But suddenly the guy turns around and comes running towards Sasha, eyes wide in panic. The alley he’d chosen was a dead end one. Sasha stops and raises his gun. He pulls the trigger fast in rapid succession. One bullet takes the guy in the chest, the other in his forehead. He hears a sound to his left and turns. A boy, 13, maybe 14, is staring at him in pure terror from 3 meters away. But the boy has a gun raised so Sasha aims and pulls the trigger.

*click*

FUCK!

He’s out of ammo. He pushes the release for the mag and dives his hand into his jacket for a fresh one.

The boy starts to squeeze the trigger. He’s shaking badly and holding the gun like it was a poison adder trying to bite him.

Doesn’t matter. Even shaking Sasha can see he will hit. And he will hit Sasha in the chest.

Time slows down and silence descends like a blanket over his world.

NO!

NO!

NO!

The empty mag is falling slowly towards the ground.

They say life pass before your eyes before you die.

They’re wrong.

NO!

NO!

NO!

All Sasha can think is _I’m too young._

He’s not ready to die.

Not now.

His hand closes around a fresh mag and starts lifting it out of his pocket.

Not now.

NO!

Fear is squeezing his heart and he can hardly breath.

So this is how it happens? Gunned down in an alley by a little hood rat. A _boy_.

Please, just. Just. No.

The boy’s eyes are so full of fear, echoed in his own.

He doesn’t hear the gun go off, but he sees it.

.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.

He’s hit by something forcefully from his side and hears a cry of pain at the same time as the mag hits the ground. Then he lands painfully on his shoulder with something heavy over him. His body is working on auto-pilot, finishing the move he started. Clicking the mag in place and firing twice―hitting the boy in head and chest, killing him instantly.

The cry of pain wasn’t his.

It takes his fear-addled brain a beat to catch up. 

“Michael?”

He twists around to find Mikey lying over him, face contorted in pain and gasping for air.

He turns Mikey over to find him hit in the chest. It’s bad. “ _MIKEY!!_ Nononono! You stupid boy.” He pushes at the wound to stem the bleeding. It’s not enough. He takes out his knife and cuts Mikey’s shirt open, then cuts a long strip of cloth, another piece of cloth he bundles up and presses it against the wound, then ties it in place. It’s rudimentary at best but his hands are shaking too much and with every laboured gasp of pain from Mikey panic is screaming so loud in his head it drowns out decades of training and experience.

“D-don’t tell em. Don’t tell em. Not even Luci. P-please. They c-c-can’t know,” Mikey begs and starts coughing blood.

NO!

NO!

NO!

“I won’t. Now just hold on. Hold on. You’ll be alright. I’ve got you. Hold on.” Sasha fumbles for his phone, hand shaking, and dials 911. “I need an ambulance to,” he looks around and sees a street sign, “Mable Street 31. A police officer has been shot in the chest. Hurry the fuck up!” His mind is on the verge of blanching out. Normally it’s not so hard to think. Normally he doesn’t care enough. “Stay with me, Mikey. Just hold on.” He’s losing too much blood. Too fucking much. His eyelids flutter and he loses consciousness.

Somewhere in the distance sirens can be heard. Sasha lays Mikey down carefully and gets to his feet, grabbing his gun and holstering it. He hurries over to the dead body of the boy, pats it down til he finds a wallet. He pockets it and lifts the dead body, shoulder and ankle shooting pain through his body that he barely notices. He carries the boy’s body to a dumpster and throws it in. Then he does the same with the other body. He flips a coin with a carved ‘C’ into the puddle of blood left where he’d shot the guy. In the setting sun the puddle looks like ink, indiscernible from water except from the coppery tang in the air. He hurries back to Mikey and sits down, feels for a pulse. He still alive. He’s still alive. He’s still alive. “Hang in there, Mikey. Come on, little Mikey, stay with me. Stay with me. Hang in there. Help is on it’s way.” He isn’t even aware he’s pulled Michael up in his arms and keeps stroking his sweat matted hair until the ambulance is there and he’s being shoved aside by a paramedic or EMT or what the fuck they are. He answers questions dazedly. _No, no known allergies. No, he doesn’t take any medications. Yes. No. A couple of minutes ago. I don’t know. **I don’t fucking know! Jesus, just SAVE HIM!** I am calm! Don’t touch me! I am calm. I’m calm alright?! Fuck. No I'm not hurt. Where are you taking him?_ ’ He’s informed the police is on it’s way and then Michael is whisked away into the back of the ambulance and he is left alone. 

If Michael dies...

If Michael dies...

There’s more sirens in the distance so Sasha starts walking. He’s in no condition to play detective Barnes right now. His mind is too scrambled to think of quick lies. Fuck. He’s too shaken to barely be able to remember to breathe. 

If Michael dies. . . 

.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.

His mind had a white out and he can’t remember what happened between walking away and this moment. He’s driving. Stolen car. Michael had their car keys. Shit. His mind is flashing Michael’s pale clammy face, the burned body of Castiel (it wasn’t him, but right now his brain doesn’t discriminate) and the sound of the car hitting Monica. He is gagging for a fix. Just pop a couple of benzos to dull these fucking _emotions_ down. He’s worried sick. It’s not about duty. It’s not about Mikey breaking the rules by sacrificing himself for a Croatoan and the implication of that. 

He drives onto the side of the road and stops the car. He takes forth the wallet he stole from the kid and flips it through. There’s a school ID in it. Jamal Williams. Born 1998, 13 years old. Sasha stares at the smiling dark boy on the photo. Wrong place, wrong time and stupid enough to wield a gun. Stupid enough not to run. Wrong. Too scared to be able to run, brave enough to pull the trigger. The boy that most likely would have ended Sasha’s life if Michael hadn’t interfered. He shouldn’t have. Croatoans were there to protect and serve the Божја браћа. Croatoans were likely to die in service. Sasha didn’t want to die. Especially not by the hands of a snot nosed little kid who didn’t know what he was dealing with. But it would happen someday. Everybody dies. But no. It’s not okay. He’s not okay with that. Death is too final. If Michael dies. . . 

Sasha is not a generally jealous man. He doesn’t get offended easily. Not by words, nor by deeds. He’s confident, but not overly prideful. He believes it’s a dog eat dog world but respects the separation of his world and the world of the lawful average Joe unless ordered not to. He keeps the collateral damage to a minimum. He rarely loses his temper. He rarely takes things personally. Now though. Now it’s _really fucking personal_. The hatred that wells up through every crack and pore. Dark, unforgiving, and vindictive. 

He takes his phone out and makes a phone call. "Hi. This is Aleksandr Chaadayev, I need you to find out everything about a boy named Jamal Williams. 13 years old, goes to school at Church Hill in Windy City. Hold on, I’ll send you a picture.” Sasha takes a photo of Jamal’s school ID and sends it. “There. I want to know everything about him. Who his friends are, if he has a girlfriend, where he lives. I also want you to find every living relative he has, as far back in the family tree as possible. We’re yanking this one up by the roots.”

"Alrighty, Sir. I'll email you the preliminary ASAP."

"Good. Keep me posted. And work fast."

"Always do, Sir."

After he hangs up Sasha closes his eyes and just breathes for a while. Pieces of memory of his escape from the scene filters back. He’s been going on autopilot which is a good thing. He focusses on the pounding in his ankle. It’s probably swollen enough now that he won’t be able to get his boot back on if he took it off. Yet the physical pain is helping him clear his mind to a degree. He needs to get to the hospital to find out how Mikey is doing. (Please, _please_ , don’t be dead!) Before he can go there he needs to get out of these bloody clothes and ditch the stolen car. Without really thinking about it he’s taken his jar of goodies out of his jacket and is flipping the lid open and close over and over. There’s a blue pill in there that would make him totally numb. Unbothered. His gut is churning. _Take it. Take it. Take it._ He closes the lid, puts the jar back inside his jacket pocket and starts the car. Pill untouched.

* * *

* * *

“I came as fast as I could. I got a phone call about my son, Michael Noble, Jr being shot. Is he alright? Can I see him?” Sasha doesn’t have to act very much to play the distraught and worried parent verging on panic. Michael's still in surgery when he gets there. If Michael is in surgery he isn’t dead. Yet. Sasha paces back and forth in the corridor, unable to sit still. He took care of his ankle before he came here. Wrapped it up for support and dosed it with freeze spray. He should be resting his leg but he can’t. It takes forever until a doctor comes to inform him that Michael is out of surgery and stable. The damage isn’t near as bad as it could have been but his body had gone into shock. The doctor starts explaining but it’s all med-talk gibberish to Sasha. He gets the gist of it all though: now it’s up to Mikey to fight the rest of the way. Twice his heart stopped during surgery. _Twice_. Sasha wants to throw up. It’s another eternity before he’s allowed in to see Mikey. He’s yet to wake up. He’s not out of the woods but they’d done all they can for now.

Sasha’s eyes sting when he sees him, tears threatening to spill. He’s so pale. Hooked up to drips and with oxygen tubes sticking into his nose. A heart monitor beeps steadily. Sasha sits down in the plastic chair beside the bed. Mikey looks so small and fragile. More fragile than he ever looked even as a small child. Sasha’s hand is shaking as he reaches out and takes the younger man’s unresponsive hand in his.

“Stupid little boy. It’s _my_ job to die for you, Mikey. Not the other way around.” Sasha tries to say more but there’s a lump in his throat and those goddam tears keeps blurring his sight. He bends his head down, rests his forehead against Mikey’s hand and gives in to the tears, sobbing silently with his shoulders shaking. He’s not sure for how long he cries. Maybe he should be ashamed of doing so, but he can’t help it. Mikey’s hand is wet from his tears. He’s exhausted. When was the last time he cried for somebody? Castiel. Before then? Ages ago… “I swear, Mikey. If you die, I’ll kill you,” he chokes out when the flow of tears are finally beginning to subside.

“ _...sound...logic…_ ” Mikey’s voice is thin and reedy, barely audible, but Sasha hears it. His head snaps up so fast he almost gets a crick in his neck from it. Mikey’s eyes are half open and trained on him. Sasha makes a choked out sound he’s never heard from himself before―something between a squee and a sniffle―and presses a hand over his mouth. The relief is like a punch in the gut. Sure, Mikey might not be out of the woods yet, but if he’s awake and somewhat lucid his chances increases tenfold. Fact is, Sasha had been worried since the doctor said it was up to Michael because Sasha wasn’t so sure Mikey _wanted_ to live. “ _Didjou...tell’em_ …?” Mikey asks, eyes glossy from pain and fatigue.

Sasha shakes his head. “No.” Had he told anybody Mikey had been shot there would be questions of how, and why. The problem wasn’t that Mikey kept taking on these low tier shit jobs to alleviate his boredom. All the Божја браћа was well aware of him doing so. Some approved, some didn’t. If he should die on such a job it wouldn’t exactly come as a surprise to anybody. One of their older brothers, Mal, had been killed on a job back in ‘99. Another brother, Samael, had been killed in training ‘01, at the age of 12. While threatening, harming, or killing a Бог брат was deemed the greatest offence you could commit against the _Porodica_ (which Jamal’s family would soon find out), the Бог брат himself was not blamed or ridiculed for it. No. The problem here was that the bullet was not meant for Michael. If anyone found out Mikey would come under scrutiny, and Sasha? He shuddered to think about it. Lets just say it would serve the two of them the best to pretend this never happened. But not yet. Sasha reaches out a hand and strokes Mikey’s hair, petting him comfortingly. “I didn’t tell anyone. Rest and get well now, okay? I’ll be here.”

Michael squeezes Sasha’s hand still holding his. It’s just a tiny weak thing, then Michael closes his eyes again.

* * *


	33. The Power of Vengeance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha and Mikey have some problems in the wake of Mikey's sacrifice. Sasha consoles himself by plotting revenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **No warnings for this chapter.** Except for murderers being murderous if that counts.
> 
> I'm cleaning out my google docs. Got a shitload of almost finished chapters lying around and I might as well publish them. So this isn't newly written. I promise VC isn't abandoned and I'll get back to it once I'm back up to par, writing stuff that actually feels good enough for me. (VC is my baby and I refuse to publish stuff that feels like crap to me in that department.) This story though may experience some time jumps from here on. I can sort the chapters in order later when we reach November 20th, 2011. The day Mikey and Luci have their fight over Sam.

* * *

**2011**

* * *

Late July

They’re never bothered by the police which surprises Sasha. Sure, he had left a coin on the scene, but Windy City police department isn’t exactly the most corrupt in the country. He would have expected to at least be questioned, (despite using another ID. After all, he was seen on the scene by the paramedics) maybe put under arrest for a few days before the Croatoan security system could work it’s magic. But no. Nothing. A check into the data files of the police revealed the case had disappeared. It was a blessing the system had worked so fast this time. He didn’t want to leave Mikey’s side for long. 

After Mikey woke up to find Sasha by his side he took a turn for the better and recovered fast. Sasha stayed by Mikey’s side most of the time until he was allowed to leave the hospital one week later. It was good for Sasha’s ankle too as it got to rest a lot more than it would have otherwise. The second day Mikey switched his behaviour, referring to Sasha only as “croat” and demanding to be called by title. It was both necessary and a bit sad. They were both slamming up walls and backpedalling, trying to regain a normal Croatoan/Бог брат relationship. Sasha should be grateful for it. Yet he couldn’t stop the feeling of loneliness it brought. Over and over he caught Mikey looking at him covertly with an unreadable face. He found that unsettling. He spent at least two hours every day talking on the phone with Anna. Not having much to say he was glad she was such a talkative girl―happy to have someone willing to listen to her. He found himself missing Jody something fierce. But calling her was a surefire way down the road to heartache, so he didn't. Dropping by now and then to see her would be one thing, calling her just to talk was something completely different.

There was a bright spot though and it was _revenge_. Armed with the full knowledge of Jamal Williams’ extended family he plotted that this job was to be done solely by Croatoans, no pawns, each choosing their own preferred method, exactly one month after Jamal’s death. By August 2011 Jamal’s bloodline would cease to exist. Siblings, parents, cousins, nieces and nephews, grandparents and their siblings, from newborn babe to ancient. Some relatives so far removed they most likely never knew of their relations to the Williams in Windy City. Some living in Italy, Algeria, and Sierra Leone. It didn’t matter. A whole family tree would be ripped up by the roots. Part of Sasha was fiercely satisfied with the idea. Part of him was awed and scared shitless by the pure power demonstration it would bring. No wonder the Божја браћа acted like they were gods. They _were_. This is what happened when the ‘innocent’ and unprepared angered gods. A total wipe-out like this was rare. But then again, so was a Бог брат getting shot. All he needed now was Michael’s blessing.

“Take your medicine, Sir.”

“Go away, croat. I’m sick and tired of munching pills.” Michael did a dismissive gesture with his hand.

“No. Take your fucking antibiotics, _Sir,_ ” Sasha growls and slams down a glass of water and the pills on top of the paper Michael is reading. 

Michael stands up and whirls on Sasha, stepping in close with a dangerous gleam in his eyes. He is close enough that his breath comes in hot minty puffs on Sasha’s face. “Are you disobeying a direct order, _croat_?” he asks coldly.

“My job is to keep you alive and _healthy_. Take. Your. Fucking. Medicine.” Sasha is staring back just as coldly. Challenge in every inch of his posture. His heart is beating hard and fast. He is overstepping his bounds by miles. He knows it. Michael certainly knows it. Judging by the mounting anger in Mikey’s eyes he’s about to find out what happens to a Croatoan who no longer knows his place. There’s a chill running down his spine. Sasha is holding a file in one hand. He holds it up at shoulder height without breaking their eye lock. If anything, he puffs up more and crowds in closer. Any closer than this and their noses will touch. He’s stupid. He may be the physically dominant male in this room but Michael got the whole power of the _Porodica_ behind his back. It’s a fight Sasha can’t win.

“Pray tell, what is that?” Michael says, not looking at the file, not backing away.

“ _Retribution_.” It’s not his intention to let his voice and face suddenly reflect all his anger, hate, and thirst for vengeance, but it does. It’s enough to make Michael lean his head back a bit to get a better look at him, assessing him, then snatch the file from him. He takes a small step away from Sasha so he can open the file and read. 

He skims through the pages and looks up, eyes still sharp and cold. “You want to do this because someone took a shot at you?”

This is the first time Mikey verbalised that the bullet was meant for Sasha. There had been an unspoken agreement not to mention it. “No, Sir.” Sasha lifts his hand and lays it gently over the healing wound on Mikey’s chest. It had missed the heart, but not by much. It was his body going into shock that had made Mikey’s heart stop, not the wound itself. “It’s not for where the bullet was aimed," Sasha’s face contorts in a hateful grimace. "It’s for where it _hit_."

Michael frowns and looks down at Sasha’s hand on his chest. Sasha yanks it back as if burned, clasps his hands behind his back, schools his expression into something less expressive and stands to attention. Michael looks up at him, his frown is more thoughtful now. His eyes are still sharp but the anger has been replaced by something else, something Sasha can’t read. The silence grows taut, tense, until Michael suddenly whirls around and flops down on the chair again, swiftly taking and swallowing the antibiotics and drinking the whole glass of water down. He whirls the chair around to face Sasha. “I can’t―” he starts to say but falls silent and runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “I can’t authorize this. A full wipe out like this is unusual even for us. My brothers will be curious. _Otac_ will be curious. There’ll be questions. ‘ _Because I fucking said so_ ’ may be reason enough for most, but some will want to know.”

“But you can, Sir. If you approve, you can. I―” this time Sasha is the one to fall silent. There is a flaw in the coin system. Either the Sin-Božji family doesn’t care, or they have not thought about it. It has taken time and decades of dedication to infiltrate the justice system so well, and in so many countries, that a simple coin could be used to eradicate a crime from existing. It may work very slow in some places with little to no corruption. In some places you may get arrested and even go through a trial where the prosecution found all the evidence to be corrupted and unusable. Afterwards any record of the investigation and trial will ‘mysteriously’ disappear. Here in twin towns for an instance that may be the case as there was (apart from him, Mikey, and Lucifer) no _Porodica_ activity. However, since twin towns were completely computerized it may still be faster as a hacker would erase any case files where the coin was entered as found on the scene, erasing a bunch of other cases too just to stop it from looking too conspicuous. It’d fuck things up for the cops working the case and the rest was fixed with the help of another Croatoan stopping by to destroy evidence. In bigger cities things went faster. If the corruption went deep the cops might actually clean up the crime scene. In really corrupted places, like in where he’d been stationed with Castiel in Russia, you could give the coin straight to a cop and they’d just fuck the hell off. The Internet revolutionised the whole coin system in a way that wasn’t possible before.The difficult places where those backwater places where only paper files were used. As long as you were permitted one phone call even that could be worked around. The Croatoans had a whole sub-division working solely to keep the coin system running. It worked well in the greater part of the modern world (except for a big part of Asia that the _Porodica_ kept out of.) Sasha wasn’t sure if the Sin-Božji were really aware exactly how it worked and what huge operation it really was. 

Anyway, it had a flaw. The Sin-Božji were all about control. _Otac_ took an interest in networking back in the 60’s when he came across information of The US Department of Defense investing in network system development. He saw to that the _Porodica_ invested in cunning programmers and industrial spies from the start, then later on―hackers. The birth of the world wide web gave the _Porodica_ an edge. Few criminal organizations were so well connected, and unlike governments, they didn’t have to follow laws. As a result, the _Porodica_ had access to almost anything at their fingertips, as long as it was connected to the internet. Firewalls and other security measures could be breezed through more often than not. Which gave the Sin-Božji control. _But_ the coin system came with a price. It sacrificed the Sin-Božji family’s control.

Michael breaks Sasha out of his nervous reverie. “You, what, croat?” he asks impatiently.

“I coined the scene, Sir.”

“So?”

“So it never happened. There was no witnesses that we know of. Whatever you tell your brothers will be the truth.” Basically, the coin system hid _Porodica_ activity from the _Porodica_. If it worked really well, (meaning the cops first on the site were corrupt enough to clean up the scene) the coin never entered the system _at all_. The possibility for misuse was endless. Only Croatoans and the Sin-Božji were supposed to know about this system though and how it worked. The corrupt part of law enforcement were told some bullshit lie to make them think the _Porodica_ knew exactly how many coins there were and who used them.

Mikey’s facial expression tells Sasha he had _not_ thought about the flaw in the system before. It shifts from frowning, to realisation, to unsettled, then thoughtful and finally vaguely uncomfortable. He holds up the file. “And this is what you want to do?”

“That’s a fitting punishment for the crime of harming you.” After a beat he adds “I’m sure _Otac_ would agree.”

Michael snorts in amusement. “I’m sure,” he says dryly. “You got the coding?” He means the orders, neatly typed in to be sent to different innocuous sites online that to all extent and purposes appeared to be what they weren’t unless you knew what you were looking at.

”Yes, Sir,” Sasha says and gives him a flashdrive from his pocket, heart hammering. Hate, nerves, excitement, it’s all there within him. All he needs is for Michael to plug it in, sign it with his personal network ID―similar to those used when you log onto your internet bank―and Sasha would be responsible for ordering the death of a whole bloodline in one go. 

Michael taps the flashdrive against his pursed lips, quiet and thinking for a long while. Then, “Fair enough,” he says, plugs the device into the laptop and hits send when prompted to on the screen. A bar rises, counting percentages sent, when it reaches 100% another prompt comes up, requesting a password. Michael taps a code in that must be at least 150 digits or letters long. Sasha has only seen one of the brothers sign a big order once before and that was Babyface. He had used a little device that generated a random 12 digit code. Apparently, Michael didn’t need that. He hits enter and stands up. “It’s done. Call Anna and say that you can’t come over tonight then go get us beers.”

”Sir. You shouldn’t be dr―” The dangerous flash in Michael’s eyes makes Sasha change what he was about to say. “Yes, Sir. Right away.” If Mikey wants to get drunk despite taking antibiotics, who was Sasha to protest?

* * *

When Sasha comes back Michael has moved to the fold out couch. He pats the couch beside him, indicating for Sasha to sit down. “Open a beer each for us and take a seat." They hadn't done this since before the shot. They shouldn’t do it at all. Yet Mikey has this pleasant air about him that scares Sasha. It’s wrong in the context. He should be pissed the hell off about Sasha taking liberties. Maybe he is but it doesn’t show. Sasha takes a seat besides Michael. Gingerly. Now that he got what he asked for he’s afraid of the consequences. He hands Mikey his beer.

“What’s going to happen now, croat, is that my phone will start ringing within a couple of hours, maybe within an hour already, once my brothers get wind of the wipe out,” Mikey explains. “They will wonder why and I will have to lie a little. I’m going to put them on speaker so you can hear the whole conversation. It’s important that you do that so if anyone asks both our stories align. I hardly have to explain why to you now do I?” he says with an amused quirk to his lips and takes a sip from the beer while studying Sasha with sharp eyes over the bottle. 

“No, Sir. You don’t.” 

“I’ll keep myself as close to the truth as I can. By the time I’ve spoken to all my family the lie will be so ingrained it’ll _be_ the truth, you hear me?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Mikey smiles at him, puts the phone on his lap, slings an arm around Sasha’s shoulder and holds up his beer to clink theirs together for a toast. Warily, Sasha toasts with him and drinks. He realises his nerves are bleeding through when Mikey sniggers and schools his posture and face to relax.

They have to wait less than half an hour before the first call comes. It’s from Travis in Africa. “Heya, Mikey. You’ve kicked the hive for sure. My croats are buzzing. Why the wipe out?”

“Hey, Tad. They’re buzzing, huh?”

“More like pouting now to be honest. They all wanted to go but Brandy called dibs and hopped on a plane without even asking _why_. He just said that if you called a wipe out then those mudmonkeys deserves to die and he sure as hell ain’t going to question it. He chose our two best croats to accompany him to Sierra Leone. Me, I’m too old not to wonder.” Travis chuckles. 

“Fair enough. I got shot…”

Sasha is registering what’s being said but not really listening. He is shocked and his heart is pounding hard. He keeps it off his face but Michael notices and moves his arm from around Sasha’s shoulder to grab a hand loosely around his neck, fingers against his pulse, looking at him with a knowing smile. Sasha hadn’t anticipated that the Божја браћа would participate. He should. He had made the order to specify Croatoans because the task was too important to let ordinary rabble take care of it. Naturally he should have thought that the Божја браћа would think the same way.

After Michael explains to Travis what happened, telling the story as if he were Sasha and that Sasha hadn’t reached him in time to save him from getting hit, Travis is upset and also set on participating, unseating some of the Croatoans who wanted to go. And that continues with every phone call that comes in. Every Божја браћа that calls―even the ones who are not fond of field work―decides to participate. No matter if they currently are in a part of the world where there are no family members of Jamal or not, they choose a target and decide to travel to it. The indignant anger and vindictiveness Sasha feels about Mikey getting shot is shared by every single member of the Sin-Božji. A few of them asks the name of the Croatoan who accompanied Mikey at the time, that stemmed the bleeding, shot the assailant, called an ambulance, and kept vigil by Mikey’s bedside. Sasha makes note of who. 

It’s thrilling and terrifying. Terrifying because it means that he didn’t just―as the first Croatoan ever to do so―order a wipe out, but in practicality it also means that he, as a “lowly croat”, basically has ordered the whole Sin-Božji family to act. By proxy by all means. Michael was the one who sent the order. But Sasha was the one to form the plan, write the order, and get Michael to send it. He’s excited, _aroused_ in a non-sexual way, by that realisation. The sheer power of it makes him both want to gag and laugh hysterically. He keeps his hands firmly around his bottle or they would shake. Mikey must have realised this would happen and keeps looking at him knowingly. It scares the shit out of him. This should earn him a bullet in the back of his head for rising above his station. 

Half an hour after Doug (who asked about the name of the Croatoan who was with him) has spoken to Mikey he calls Sasha. Sasha holds the phone up to show Mikey who currently is on the phone with someone else. Mikey gestures for him to take it but go upstairs so he won’t be heard.

“Chaadayev,” he answers when he’s upstairs.

“Aleksandr. Is Mikey alright?” Doug asks, his voice worried.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Really? He said he was but he could be lying.”

“It was a close call. The bullet just narrowly missed the heart and they lost him for a while on the operation table, but he’s alright now. Grumpy about being convalescent and having to munch antibiotics, but alright.”

“And you? Are you alright? Off the record.” Doug’s voice is still worried.

“We shouldn’t go off the record on the phone, Sir,” Sasha says, uselessly lowering his voice. If someone is listening in it doesn’t make a difference.

“I know, I know. But you are a very important… weapon… to some of us. And it’d make a few of us extremely upset if… if that weapon got destroyed. It took years to hone your skills after all.”

Sasha hears loud and clear what Doug is really saying. That he cares about Sasha on a personal level. It twists something in his chest. It’s so fucked up that that ain’t allowed. That Doug can’t come out and say it, despite Sasha being a part of his childhood, acting as a mentor, teacher, playmate, and caretaker. There’s no sanity in this. “Both me and Michael are physically fine. ...mentally? Personally I’m more than a little shook up, Sir. I almost lost… the Бог брат I’m responsible to protect. As a weapon I’m just as invested in the tiny boy hands that pull my trigger, if you get what I’m sayin?” It’s absurd that they’re not trying to code their speech from law enforcement, but from the _Porodica_. Sasha is trying to tell Doug that he’s torn up about almost losing somebody he has helped raise, that he remembers them all as children and loves them (not all of them) that way. It makes him angry and frustrated. He fucking hates _Otac_ for this.

“I hear you. Take care of yourself, alright? And of Mikey. I’ll inform the other ones that are concerned about your health, okay?”

* * *

Once he hangs up and opens the door to the cellar he catches on Mikey’s tone that he’s very emotional and stops to listen without putting his foot on the stairs.

“....about it anyway? I thought you didn’t pay attention to our business anymore.”

“For the love of―! Mikey, did you really think a full wipe out would pass me by? Seriously? And why the hell would you do that?” Lucifer’s voice echos through the cellar.

“I got shot.”

“ _What_? Where? When?”

“In the chest. Earlier this month. Almost kicked the bucket.”

“.....!!!” If silence could scream, that’s what it did now on Luci’s end. “ _Jesus christ,_ ” Luci breathes once the initial shock passed. Then comes anger. “You didn’t think to _fucking tell me_?! The fuck were you thinking! Who the hell was it?! What happened? Are you alright now? Where the fuck are you?”

“Oh. _Now_ you fucking care? I drop off the map and you don’t even notice until I order a wipe out? Fuck you, Luce. You’ve got no right to be angry. Like you fucking care anymore!” Mikey matches the anger head to head. Sasha can hear him pace.

“You take off often enough to do your thing and do stuff you enjoy. I’m not going to stand in your way even if I don’t want anything to do with it anymore. I want you to be happy too you fucking moron. That doesn’t mean I don’t care so don’t give me that crap! Anyone harm a hair on your head I’ll tear them limb from limb and you know it! There’s barely anyone or anything in the world I love more than you, Mikey! You know that, right? _Right_? You know that…” Luci’s voice goes from angry to small and lost on the last sentence and Sasha hears Mikey sag down on the couch.

“Yeah… I know. I’m sorry, Luce. I love you too. And the shooter is dead. These are his family.”

Luci growls. “Does it have to happen on this particular date? I swear, I could kill them all if you’d just let me.”

Mikey chuckles. “It’s poetic,” he says, amused. “They’ll all die one month after I got shot. Besides, you’d have to put your hockey career ‘on ice’ if you wanted to kill them all by yourself Luci. It can’t be done over just summer break.”

“I don’t _care_.”

“Well I do. I didn’t move to this backwater hole in the ground so you could skip off and have all the fun on my expense. You want in? Pick a target and go for it on that exact date.”

Luci makes a discontented noise. “I will. I’m in Bretagne with Balt right now. I’ll be home tomorrow. Can I stay with you?”

“You can always stay with me. Why else would I have such a big bed, dumbass? And what the hell are you doing in France?”

“....drinking?”

Mikey laughs. “Luce I swear, the team has rules for a reason.”

“During _season_ , yes.”

“It’s not like you follow them then either.”

“It’s not like you punish me for it,” Luci says, cocky.

“Don’t tempt me.”

Now the tone has gone over to a lighter note Sasha descends. Luci and Mikey ends their conversation with heartfelt ‘miss yous’. They sound more like lovers than brothers which Sasha is 99% sure they aren’t. It’s the weird family dynamics playing tricks on the mind. Mikey pulls Sasha down in the couch and lays his head in his lap where he proceeds to use Sasha as a pillow for the duration of the evening. By the time the last call has come in every single one of the Sin-Božji is set to participate, including _Otac_ and the uncles. Those who can’t go themselves are having Croatoans making home deliveries.

Mikey falls asleep like that, head rested in Sasha’s lap. Sasha remains awake. He’s drunk on beer, high ( _fucking soaring_ ) on power, and utterly terrified.

* * *


	34. Don't be still, my beating heart.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha has some anxiety problems. Who knew, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:**  
>  \- Blood kink (in passing)  
> \- Torture  
> \- Non consensual touching (not sexual)  
> \- just messed up psyches of serial killers really  
> \- rape hinted at
> 
> I'm cleaning out my google docs. Got a shitload of almost finished chapters lying around and I might as well publish them. So this isn't newly written. I promise VC isn't abandoned and I'll get back to it once I'm back up to par, writing stuff that actually feels good enough for me. VC is my baby and I refuse to publish stuff that feels like crap to me in that department. This story though may experience some time jumps from here on. I can sort the chapters in order later when we reach November 20th, 2011. The day Mikey and Luci have their fight over Sam.

* * *

**2011**

* * *

September

Sasha puts two fingertips to the groove of his wrist at the base of his thumb to check for pulse. It’s still there of course. Of course it is. If it wasn’t he wouldn’t be alive enough to check for his own pulse to begin with. It’s totally and utterly irrational. He knows this. It happens once or twice a year at most. He suddenly gets this fear that his heart will give out or doesn’t work as it should and he has to just check that it’s still beating. He counts each beat. He’s lying on the couch watching TV so when he comes up with a steady heart rate of 45 bpm he’s calmed. A heart rate of 45 while resting might be considered low (around 60 is common) but it’s due to his athletic nature. He’s always had a slow heart rate. At least since he knew how to check for it.

Sometimes, it’s the other way around. Sometimes he becomes excruciatingly _aware_ of his own heart beating, even while resting. And then again he’s overwhelmed by this irrational fear that there won’t be a next beat, or a next, or a next. 

It has happened in the past, that he’s shared a bed with a woman he really likes―when his head has been rested against her chest―that the same fear has struck but concerning her. People talk about how comfortable and soothing the sound of a lover’s heartbeat is. Not so for him. Hearing that steady thump could just flare the realisation that one day that heart won’t be beating anymore. One day could be today. That the next beat might not come. It makes his gut crawl and his mind restless. It usually passes within a moment or two and just leaves him itching for a fix of some kind. Any kind. Just crawl back into that chemically induced bliss that nearly killed him in his youth.

Technically, Sasha has been dead four times. Four times his heart has stopped and been manually restarted. Twice due to drugs, and twice due to his job. He had drowned once. His partner at the time had saved him―dragged him out of the ocean and performed CPR. The last time it was a stab wound in his side that looked innocuous enough but wreaked havoc internally. He had died on the operation table and been brought back to life by a stubborn doctor. Later they had told him he’d been lucky. He shouldn’t have been able to claw his way back, he was lost to them. “A true fighter” the doctor had called him. Whether it was luck or sheer refusal to leave this life, who knows? Sasha doesn’t remember any of those occasions. He’d been unconscious already before he fell into the ocean. He remembers getting stabbed and finishing the mission feeling increasingly woozy. The pain hadn’t even been _that_ bad. Then nothing until he woke up. There was no out of body experiences, no light beckoning. Nothing. Just blank spaces in his memory.

Most of the time Sasha isn’t afraid of dying. Everybody dies. The number of times he’d been close to kicking the bucket were too high to count. (Those four times not included.) He doesn’t want to die though. But then came moments like this, when he was safe and in rest and it would just hit. This fear of his heart stopping. He supposes it’s some sort of panic attack. It made sense that he should have them, all things considered.

Maybe it would be easier if he believed in an afterlife of some kind. Heaven and hell, Valhalla, reincarnation, or _something._ He doesn’t. When you die it’s game over and you’re gone. No do-overs. He isn’t a good man. There would be Hell waiting for him if the Christians were right. He doesn’t see himself as a monster, or evil. But he’s not a good man. He’s selfish, putting himself first. His own life and needs came first, once those were fulfilled he’d help others. (Because why not? Like the safety instructions on an airplane - first you put the oxygen mask on your face, _then_ your child.) There’s nothing wrong with that. The Christians were hypocrites anyway. “ _Thou shalt not kill._ ” And yet there were all these soldiers fighting for “God and country”. Sasha is pretty sure that if there is a God, he’s _not_ impressed.

Reincarnation holds a measure of solace. Except he wouldn’t remember who he once was if he was reborn. He doesn’t like that one bit. If he had a choice he’d choose immortality. The common argument against immortality is that you’d have to see everyone you love die. _I do that anyway,_ Sasha thinks bitterly. True, not everyone he has ever cared for is dead yet. But many are and it has never stopped him from developing new relationships. He’s become more jaded as the years pass, making it easier to stop strong emotions from growing when he’s undercover. He has more control. Yet despite losing so many he cared for one way or another, the thought of holding back on his own emotions to protect himself from heartbreak seems foreign.

_Now you’re lying to yourself, Sash. What about Jody?_

But that was selfish too. To hold himself from working on a relationship that could work. He brought death to the doorstep. It was the bridal gift he’d give, the ever present threat of being used as a barter piece or an achilles heel to get at Sasha or the _Porodica_. So it was a selfish move to want to see people he cared for go untouched by the taint that was his life if they weren’t mentally equipped to share it. It wasn’t mercy towards them. They were liabilities to him. He’d seen what lay down that road. How respect and love turned to horror, contempt, and fear if they ever found out what he was. It’d be like that with Jody if he didn’t content himself to sneaking small moments of happiness and no strings attached. It wasn’t as if he didn’t think he was good enough. Fuck no. He held himself in too high regard for that. But he held her in high regard too.

_What about Castiel?_

No. Don’t go there. Don’t think about it. Castiel was high as a kite when he promised forever. Hell, he was even lying about who he was. He left. Why is unimportant. He left and if he was here Sasha would give him the beating of his life in thanks. Sasha imagines Castiel lying unconscious, beaten and bruised by his feet. What would he do then? _Clean his wounds, put on a pot of coffee, carry him to bed, put a glass of water and painkillers by his side of bed and crawl in beside him._ Sasha drags his pendant in the seam of his lips and imagines winding his hand into Castiel's hair before falling asleep beside him. It’s shorter now, but still long enough to grip. The hair would be the only thing to stick up from under the comforter.

Sasha tries to imagine what would happen when Castiel awoke. He’d be pissy as hell, downing the glass of water and the painkillers, then demand coffee but snuggling up against Sasha and refusing to let him leave the bed. Castiel wouldn’t hold a grudge. He’d understand the anger and the punishment. He’d be back to be his old bratty self, not even trying to make up for his betrayal. Why should he when he’d been punished for it already? He’d need to be pampered and taken care of the first days until he’d healed enough to go on jobs. Sasha would tell him “If you leave me again, I’ll kill you,” but it’d be a lie. It would be a lie and Castiel would know it.

“Honey, I’m home!” Michael calls out as soon as he opens the door. Good thing too, Sasha had gun in hand as soon as he heard the door handle move.

”Living room,” Sasha calls back. Mikey comes in carrying pizza and falls into the couch, Sasha barely having time to pull his legs out of the way and drag himself into a sitting position.

”I brought grub. Dig in.” Michael flips the lid of the pizza box open and looks at the TV. “Dude. What _are_ you watching?” he asks and scrunches his face up.

Sasha looks at the screen. _Oh_. Home Shopping Network. “What? You don’t think I need a Chop Chop All-in-One Prep Tool?” 

”Not unless you’re planning to get creative with your work,” Mikey says dryly, then halts his movements and looks imploringly at Sasha. “ _Are_ you planning to get creative with your work?"

Sasha chuckles. “No."

"Huh. A shame," Mikey says and reaches for the remote to change channel. He puts on some action movie with Jason Statham. It once again makes Sasha think of Castiel with a wave of longing paired with resentment. 

“You’re the sculptor in the family, not me," he says and reaches out for a slice of pizza. Instantly he realises his slip but pretends to be oblivious about it. It's hard these days, to pretend he doesn’t see Mikey as an equal. He doesn’t look at Michael, but he's hyper aware of him, hardly tasting the pizza he puts in his mouth while he stares at the TV like he hadn't seen this movie before. 

Michael stiffens, a moment of anger passing in his body language. Then he tilts his head, studying Sasha for a beat before relaxing and putting his feet in Sasha’s lap. "Oh for fuck sake! Get your stinking feet off me, I'm trying to eat," Sasha grumps and shoves at Mikey’s feet.

Mikey sniggers and sinks down further on the couch, pushing his legs more firmly onto Sasha’s lap.

“It’s the shoes. Got to buy new ones. I put on new socks and the shoes, within five minutes they’ll make my feet stink.”

Sasha snorts, throws the pizza slice back in the box, gives Mikey a disgusted look and proceeds to take the socks off of his feet and throw them in a corner of the room. “Then fucking _buy_ new shoes. Don’t go sticking your feet in my face while I eat.”

Michael chuckles and lifts a foot to pat Sasha’s face with it. Sasha lets out a string of obscenities in Russian and swats the foot away, then firmly locks down both feet in his lap. Mikey seems to relax at that so Sasha keeps a hand over his shin and bends to take his pizza slice again. They settle down to watch the movie while eating, Sasha’s hand still loosely rested on the shin. He has mixed feelings of domestic bliss and uncomfortable closeness. The uncomfortable feeling grows when he realises that he unconsciously have been rubbing his thumb back and forth on Mikey’s leg while eating. The only reason he notices at all is that Mikey makes a contented little noise and relaxes more against him. This kind of closeness is common amongst the Божја браћа, not something that they should accept from others, or worse, seek out. It's all the blurred lines and it makes Sasha’s skin crawl with bad foreboding. "Why are you here anyway? Shouldn't you be with Lucifer?" he asks since Mikey is using him as a substitute for his brother right now. At least, that's how Sasha interprets this.

”I had a play session with the precious cargo I had you pick up a while back. When I got back Luci had gone awol. He often does that. I figured he thinks I get too… nevermind. So I figured I could coax you out on an adventure when I saw you weren’t with Anna. Why is that by the way? I thought you were supposed to be with her today?”

“I was.” Sasha is still resting his hand on Mikey’s leg (it’s comfortable, so sue him) even if he stopped moving his thumb now that Mikey confirmed Sasha is acting stand in for Lucifer (which isn't comfortable). "We went to a spa. Had a massage and a fucking mud bath. Stuff like that. But it got a bit too much and I felt I needed to be by myself for a bit."

Mikey snorts. “Too much? What? Not a fan of being pampered?" he asks skeptically. 

Sasha frowns at the TV. He grunts noncommittally. "No, that's nice. But then Anna insisted we should have facials and the woman who were supposed to do mine got all excited about my skin and starts interrogating me about what products I use, calling some other bitch over to look at me. Asking me what my 'secret was' and shit like that." He makes a contemptuous face at the memory of the two women standing over him, ooh-ing and ah-ing while prodding and touching his face like he wasn't even there. He had gotten a claustrophobic feeling. Trapped. His body had gone into defense mode, adrenaline running wild. It had been a struggle to keep himself amicable. "Anna was fucking laughing her ass off. I wanted to fucking shoot the three of them."

Mikey grins. “I know the feeling."

Sasha knew that or he wouldn’t have said anything. Their lives made defensive reactions to non-threatening situations unavoidable. The ability to keep a straight face and play through it was crucial to blending in. Sasha lifts his pendant to his mouth, absentmindedly dragging it back and forth in the seam of his lips. "I said I was uncomfortable with their treatment but one of them wouldn’t fucking stop. She just kept on and on and called my skin fucking a work of art."

"What _is_ your secret?"

"What?" Sasha’s head snaps around to look at Michael. He has his head cocked curiously. 

"What products _do_ you use?"

"Nothing. What’s wrong with people? Why do you think I'd go slather up my face with creams and shit?" 

"You really don't use anything?"

"No. Just mosquito repellant and sunblock occasionally."

"Mosquito repellant isn't exactly a skin product," Mikey states.

Sasha grins. "You say that now. But when you're in Siberia during summer, or in Africa or Nicaragua, being swarmed by those nasty fuckers, you'll change your mind. Without a good repellant you'll be itching, scratching, and bleeding all over. And the bites get infected or inflamed. You look and feel like a leper."

Mikey is regarding him, face unreadable for a while. Long enough for Sasha’s smile to drop and him to turn his attention back towards the TV, squeezing his pendant, getting uncomfortable again. With good reason, it’s proves, 30 seconds later when Mikey suddenly snatches his feet away and all but launches himself at Sasha. Instinctively Sasha shields himself with one arm and draws back the other to punch. Quick thinking freezes him in that position, leaning away as far as he can get. "Too close, Sir! Too close," he protests, heart rate elevated and with a fresh dose of adrenaline. 

Mikey is pressed up against his side, standing on his knees, held at bay by Sasha’s lower arm across his chest but leaning onto it. He’s looking down on Sasha with intense eyes, shining with the fever that grips him post-kill or after a play session. Like now, come to think of it. 

"Shut up, croat. I'm inspecting _Porodica_ property," Mikey says, leaning over Sasha supporting himself with one hand on the backrest of the couch, thus making himself bigger, more physically imposing, asserting dominance by posturing. It's not something he usually (ever) does. Nor does he have to. The words alone are enough for Sasha to know what rules to play by. Sasha may be bigger, stronger, faster, and radiate a more commanding aura, but he's still the submissive party in the presence of a Бог брат. He's too stressed out right now to think about all the times he challenged that while taking care of Mikey after the shooting. Mikey touches his face in a similar manner of the women at the spa. But it's all wrong. Gently, intimate. Sasha forces himself to relax. He locks his gaze on a fixed point on an imaginative horizon, staring into nothing, retreats inward, trying not to think of anything while his muscles go slack. He holds on to the word 'property', lets himself be owned.This is one of Michael’s mind games. That's all there is. 

Michael crowds even closer when Sasha submits, face hovering mere inches apart, every breath felt like soft puffs against his skin. fingers travel the bridge of his nose, trace cheekbones and jawline. His eyes fall close when Mikey circles his eye sockets, feeling the soft skin around his eyes. Fingers the fine lines around the eyes, trail out towards his ears and traces the shell of his ear, the curves of it, and it’s folds inward. Sasha repress a shudder. He’s really fucking uncomfortable now because it’s not unpleasant. _At all._

Definitely one of Mikey’s mind games, and so out of line for a professional relationship unless it preludes a harsh punishment that Sasha’s pretty sure he isn’t up for. He retreats even deeper into himself, down to the spot where he retreats when he has to follow orders _he_ deems morally objectionable or downright revolting. He’s been living in that headspace for a full year when he worked the trafficking gig back in the days. It’s where he seeks shelter when he has to look the other way or partake in things he doesn’t want to. Or, like now, when things are being done to him against his will. As he’s gotten older, the need to retreat within himself has diminished as he’s grown more jaded, empathy fading and tolerance for whatever his body is put through has grown.

“You’ve got tiny freckles.”

“Only during summer, Sir,” Sasha’s voice comes out flat and soft, lacking emotion.

“But this one,” Michael touches a spot on the side of his nose, “and this one,” high up on his cheek below his eye, “and this.” Another touch on his cheek on the opposite side. “They’re permanent. I remember them from back when you taught us.” His fingers keeps exploring Sasha’s face gently, nudging his chin up and goes down to feel the skin on his neck. “And you’re sure you don’t use any products?”

“Do I appear to be the moisturizing type to you? You have seen my full shower routine while I’m at Anna’s. I’m sure you would have noticed if I did. Sir.” It’s a bold statement. To claim that Mikey is watching him just as much as keeping an eye on Anna. His voice is still flat and soft without emotional inflection, a byproduct of having withdrawn so deeply.

“No. But those bitches were right about your skin. You’ve grown older, but it hasn’t.”

“Not true. I’ve got wrinkles.”

Yet again Mikey trails his fingers over places where age tends to be most apparent on a face, around the eyes, just by the ears, the neck, then traces the bow of his lips. It’s the opposite of unpleasant but Sasha’s too withdrawn to be further discomforted. “They’re not really wrinkles. They’re all laugh lines. They’re all fucking laugh lines, Aleksandr. I know how much you squint at the sun, you scowl and can be a grumpy fucker at times. And I’ve seen your kill face which is a scary thing. For someone whose default setting is a sympathetic expression you can look really cruel and merciless. But it’s like your face only remembers the smiles. Open your eyes.”

Sasha does. For a moment they’re just looking silently at each other. Mikey’s so close he’s just shy of Sasha having to go cross eyed to look him in the eyes. At first Mikey’s face is unreadable, then Sasha can see agitation and upset grow in his features. “Did those bitches switch your light off too?” Mikey’s voice is hard and cold.

“What do you mean?”

“I _mean_ , your eyes are fucking dead. They’re never dead! You always shine bright. Did the light go out of them when that fucking mudmonkey whore kept touching your face despite you told her not to?” Michael isn’t even trying to hide his feelings now, displaying the self-righteous wrath of a Бог брат who’ve had something stolen from him.

Sasha can see where this is going. He’s faced with a choice. A simple ‘yes’ and the woman, Donna, would not live to see another day. A ‘no’ and Mikey would direct his anger elsewhere. Of course he hadn’t needed to withdraw quite as far within himself at her touch. But something in Michael’s indignance about Sasha feeling molested makes a pleasant warm tendril inside of him unfurl and reach out for Michael’s anger like a flower towards the sun. "Yes," he answers. _Let the bitch suffer._

* * *

It’s dark outside when they find her house, scope the place out. It’s a well to do neighbourhood in the outskirts of the city, the houses have big yards and pools but most fences and bushes that separates them are low enough to keep friendly conversations over. The security is low and apart from a neighbourhood watch sign they find no security cameras or voyeuristic neighbours with binoculars. Mikey calls it a “swinger neighbourhood” whatever that is supposed to mean. Sasha doesn’t ask but it’s supposedly a good thing for them.

Donna’s house is only one storey and quite big. They can see the family through the living room window. All watching some movie together. A man, two teenagers, and Donna. No sign of a pet. Donna gets up to go to the toilet. She never comes back. How long it takes for the family to notice isn’t of any interest to Mikey and Sasha as they drive off with the sedated woman in their trunk.

* * *

The wooden cabin has no windows and is deep in the woods. Mikey had pointed out another barely visible path as they drove past it, telling Sasha that he and Lucifer had another cabin in there too, but that one is for relaxing, this one is for fun and Lucifer rarely joins Mikey here. Sasha can see why when he carries the unconscious woman inside. He and Lucifer shared a philosophy that he himself had hammered into Lucifer on the shooting range, and that was effectiveness. You want someone dead, you kill them. The longer you drag it out the higher the failure-rate. Two bullets―one in the brain, one in the heart. Of course, not all missions were about killing. They could be about inflicting fear, causing pain, revenge, political sabotage, gathering information, anything really. Or, like now, providing a Бог брат with entertainment. 

Donna was going to die tonight and it was going to be painful. Not that Sasha was bothered by it. Cruel and sadistic games were popular both amongst his peers and the Божја браћа. He preferred not to be part of these things and found them mostly tedious and slightly repulsive―unlike in his youth when what was about to happen would make his stomach turn and he’d have trouble sleeping unless he drank himself into a stupor afterwards. Empathy―a for him somewhat limited resource to begin with―had slowly peeled away to a bare minimum over the years. He’d dredge it up when he could afford it, like with the Winchester boy, the drunk woman on the subway station, and other random people. He’d dole it out in small portions, like preventing a “too ugly” (which doesn’t necessary mean she was ugly) whore from going into a hotel room with Addi and thus saving her from being cruelly beaten for no other reason than her looks wasn’t satisfying to the oldest Бог брат. He’d shadow and take out muggers he saw following unsuspecting drunks or couples if he came across them.

Thing is, he knows, he’s a hunter and a predator at heart. He _enjoys_ the hunt. He always has. Even stealing food for survival as a kid he’d enjoyed the thrill of the theft, the challenge, the rush of power at success. That had never changed. When he met Castiel in that alley, then left him by the car expecting him to make a run for it, he’d looked forward to tracking him down and taking him out. He’d never choose a target like Donna on his own, he preferred to hunt his equals. Lion stalking a lion. Crafty, skilled, and vicious men with messed up morals just like him gave him the best thrills and challenged him. He worked just as well in a group as alone, but preferred to work with a single partner. He had bloodlust just like Mikey, just like Castiel, but different all the same. And that bloodlust was something totally different than the sexual arousal actual blood caused him. While he wouldn’t choose Donna as his prey by himself, despite the discomfort she had caused him, he and Mikey had been equally excited when they picked the lock and broke into her house, standing hidden watching the family watch TV, waiting for their opportunity to grab her, Mikey with gun in hand and him with a syringe. It had gone flawlessly and been even more of a rush because the family hadn’t noticed. They were still watching TV when he and Mikey drove off. That had been Sasha’s fun. What came now was just work to him, and was Mikey’s fun. (Not that Mikey didn’t enjoy the hunt too or he wouldn’t take so many low level jobs as he did.)

The cabin looked dilapidated on the outside but was anything but on the inside. Should anyone find it they might find it strange it was so securely locked, but it wouldn’t draw attention from the outside. It had good lighting and white walls, light gray floor that was easily washed off, a drain in the middle of the floor, a sink, a shower, and a hose on the wall. The wall opposite the door was completely covered by a mirror and the wall opposite the sink and shower was covered in stainless steel cupboards, a chair and a trolley. Now what really drew attention was the big frame in the middle of room, over the drain. It had shackles and chains and was made to string up and immobilize a person. Sasha hoped he’d be allowed to melt into the background and wait this one out. After all, his help wasn’t necessary. A vain hope, he knew.

“String her up there, facing the mirror," Mikey commands. "Then give her the antidote and go for a walk. Come back here in, let's say 45 minutes."

"Yes, Sir." Sasha does as he’s told and then leaves when Donna is starting to stir. It’s dark and cold outside, the trees black silhouettes against an equally inky sky. There’s nothing to indicate that anyone is inside the cabin. No light leaking out, no sounds except from the forest that surrounds them. He sets his phone alarm on 44 minutes. He could go wait in the car, or take a walk to pass time. After a moment of deliberation he chooses instead to climb a nearby tree and settle into a wedge between two sturdy branches. Here he’s hidden by both darkness and branches above him but has an excellent view of the cabin’s surroundings once his eyes have adjusted to the darkness. Anybody will be hard pressed to get near the cabin without him noticing. The most exciting thing that happens though is a family of deer making their way past, doing some lazy grazing as they walk.

When his alarm goes off he climbs down, cursing under his breath when stiff joints protests and the bark scratches his skin. He dusts himself off and goes inside. Donna is no longer a human in his eyes. She was dead already when he strung her up. Now she’s nothing but a crying piece of meat. The room smells strongly of blood, and vaguely of urine and semen. Donna is naked. Her clothes have been cut off her body. She has a multitude of cuts on her body and at one point or another she’s been hosed down. Most likely when she lost control of her bladder. The only part of her that’s been left untouched is her back.

Mikey, only wearing underwear, turns around and grins at him. “Just on time. If you don’t want to get blood on your clothes, take them off and put them there. Then I want you to come stand in front of Donna. I’m gonna show you something,” his face grows serious, “strictly off the record.”

“Yes, Sir.” Michael’s face reverts into smiling. He seems excited. Sasha removes his clothes, except his underwear and does as he’s told. He takes up position in front of the helplessly crying woman. Sometimes he wonders at himself. Why rape is a crime that he cringes at when this doesn’t repulse him nearly as much. In his youth he used to have dreams he didn’t remember when he woke up. The only thing that lingered was the frantic cries for mercy from a woman. “Нет, пожалуйста! Не перед ним ! Пожалуйста, не надо!” He thinks those dreams are repressed childhood memories. He wonders what made him think of it now. It must be fifteen years ago he last woke up by that dream and he hadn’t thought of it since. He’s getting old. He thinks too much nowadays. He blames Castiel for that. Why not? The young man had turned him upside down and inside out. Fucked him up and fucked him over. He should have just pulled the trigger when he had him in his sight. _I could never do that._

“Now, Donna. Remember what we talked about?” Michael says cheerfully and puts his chin on her shoulder from behind her.

She mumbles something between sobs.

Mikey rolls his eyes and digs his fingers into a cut on her stomach, making her scream and arch her back trying to get away. “Not like that. Look him in the eyes and speak clearly, like we practised,” he commands as he lets go.

Donna draws a couple of deep breaths to collect herself then looks up at Sasha with terrified and pained eyes. “I’m sorry I touched you when you explicitly told me not to, Mr. Chaadayev.”

“Good girl. Just like that,” Mikey says and gives her a tender kiss on the shoulder while stroking her hair. Sasha remains waiting for whatever comes next. These theatrics are not something he enjoys, but Mikey does. And what Mikey wants, Mikey gets. 

Mikey looks at Sasha, eyes bright and manic. “She called your skin art, right? I want to show you something. You’re not allowed to tell anyone, got it? Not even Luci. Alright?”

“I won’t,” Sasha promises.

Mikey gives him a grin full of pure joy. “Great! You can choke her out if you want if her screams bother you, but don’t kill her. Oh, and keep her steady. I don’t want her to struggle too much. That’d ruin it and I’d have to take the whole night punishing her for it.”

Sasha nods. Mikey’s nostrils flare and he grabs a scalpel, going to his knees behind Donna’s back and gets to work. Donna screams and Sasha steps in to steady her, pushing her head towards his shoulder for comfort. (Like it’d help. Tssk.) “ _Shhh_. It’ll get worse if you struggle. He’ll get mad. You want me to choke you out?” he whispers into her ear. She is crying too hard to be coherent, and he sees Mikey look up at him with a secret little smile that Sasha can’t interpret. “I’ll choke you out, okay? It’s scary but you’ll be unconscious and won’t feel the pain,” he soothes and steps away enough to get a hand around her neck (she raises her head to give him access) and squeeze, cutting off blood to the brain. It _might_ kill her, despite his orders, but it’s fast. There’s barely enough time for panic to reach her eyes before she passes out.

Mikey chuckles. “You’ve got a fucking bleeding heart, Aleksandr. How have you survived this game so long?” He is focusing on Donna’s back again, cutting away strips of skin that falls like small snakes or small maggots to the ground.

Sasha snorts in derision. “You misjudge my care for her well being. I found her screams grating. If she thinks I’m doing something out of mercy she’ll be more likely to cooperate, like she did.”

“You keep telling yourself that. I’m just saying, you’re playing on the wrong side of the fence. Which I appreciate, by all means. But I think you were born to be a hero, not a villain,” Mikey says with a voice full of amusement.

Sasha gets to his knees to be at eye level with Mikey, his body sticky with blood from having pressed Donna’s body against himself. He leans his head against her waist, unmindful of the red stickiness against his cheek. The smell is seductive and he turns his head slightly so the blood will stick to the side of his nose and lips too. He looks at Mikey who is intent on his work. “I hardly think so. Heroes aren’t born. They’re made by the circumstances and chance. I believe that whether it was the _Porodica_ , the army, or the police that snatched me up I’d still end up an apex predator amongst prey.”

Mikey’s eyes flick to him at the exact moment his tongue dart out to lick the blood of his lips to savour the metallic taste. The way Mikey’s eyes widen and he halts his hand movement for a beat makes it feel like Sasha has been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Sasha looks away and misses how Mikey’s pupils blew wide and he licked his own lips in response to Sasha. “Possibly,” Mikey says and resumes his work. His voice comes out rough and he clears it before he continues. “I just think you lie to yourself a whole lot about how you feel about things…”

Sasha snorts and gives Mikey a dry look. “Maybe so, but tell me, are you always honest to yourself about how you feel?” Mikey looks back at him, eyes guarded now. “I can answer that for you, Бог брат. You’re not. We’re too strong to be, and have duties too heavy to _feel_. With all the power you have, you’re still shackled by duty towards the _Porodica_. Same as I. There’s no room for a bleeding heart in our life. The fact that you think I have one just demonstrates how far removed our world is from the ordinary mudmonkeys’ where I am the monster of the week, the month, the year. I’m the dark horse amongst white sheep. Same as you. You get what I’m sayin?” Sasha quickly corrects himself. “I mean, not the _same_ , obviously. But the principle is the same.” 

Mikey’s eyes are intense, burning. Sasha is discomforted about not being able to read his face at the moment. It takes a beat before he answers. “I get what you’re saying, Aleksandr. But the fact remains, you’ve been on this job, on _active_ duty, longer than most croats and yet you give a damn about the mudmonkeys. You have those idealistic ideas. You protect and defend strangers even when it doesn’t hold any gain for you to do so, I’ve seen you do it. You always choose swift dead over drawn out ones when it’s within your power to do so, your favourite methods of extracting information are pleasant ones for your victim. Bleeding-fucking-heart. Still. After all these years. And you should see yourself with my мала браћа… I’m jealous of..., no. That doesn’t matter. Thing is, most croats in your age are dead inside. And you just keep shining. Maybe not as brightly as when I first met you, but your inner light burns brighter than most other people’s. And the day that light die it won’t go out with a fizzle. It’ll explode like a supernova, taking half the world with it.”

_That really settles it. Madness. Mikey is insane._ Sasha wonders what Mikey was about to say about his little brothers but senses that whatever it is Mikey is jealous of, Sasha doesn’t really want to know. If Mikey broke that thought off in this state there’s really only trouble down that road. And when had he seen Sasha protect innocents? He can’t remember doing so on any of the jobs they’d done. Maybe Mikey just interpreted him avoiding collateral damage that way.

“There. I’m done. Can you hand me that rag and bottle?” Mikey asks and points. Sasha wastes no time getting up and fetching the things Michael asked for. Michael pours the liquid over Donna’s back. Whatever it is it stops the bleeding pretty instantly, then he dries the blood off messily. “Come around and look,” Mikey bids him excitedly.

Sasha does and draws a breath in wonder. “Michael, this is incredible!”

Mikey practically beams at him like a proud kid. “Skin. Art. You like it?”

“I do.” He reaches out and touches Donna’s back reverently. Mikey hugs him from behind and puts his chin on Sasha’s shoulder. Mikey is gripped by the blood madness, the kill fever, whatever you want to call it, so Sasha doesn’t put much stock in it. He’s aware that Mikey is watching the two of them in the mirror but ignores it in favour of admiring the three carvings on Donna’s back. Simplistic lines have been carved, strips of skin removed to form faces, and you can tell without a shadow of a doubt that the face on top is Lucifer, Sam Winchester is underneath, and at the bottom is Sasha himself. Simple lines perhaps, but capturing the three of them perfectly. He doesn’t even try to hide the awe he feels. “I didn’t know you were an artist. I’ve never seen you draw or paint ever. Can you do this with pen and paper too?”

“Better even. But don’t tell anyone. This is private. No one knows.”

“You’ve got my word.” They stand there silently for a while, Sasha looking at the carvings, trying not to think about why Mikey chose those three faces in particular and telling himself his is only there because Mikey decided to show him this (and definitely not thinking about _why_ Mikey decided to do that), while Mikey looks at the two of them―three if you count Donna―in the mirror. Sasha feels Mikey bend his head in towards his neck and nuzzle, opening his mouth and Sasha is in a full fledged panic all the sudden. “Hey, you want to finish up here and go grab a drink, maybe pick up some pussy?” he gets out in a rush, pulse jumping up in his throat. He’s sure Mikey feels it.

Mikey stiffens momentarily and then lets go of Sasha, stepping away. “Yeah. Let’s do that. Good idea,” he says, sounding faintly dazed.

_It’s a real fucking bad idea, but the one I think you had was soo much worse._ Mikey in a blood fever can’t be trusted to think straight.

Luckily, the rest of the evening Mikey backtracks to a more respectable distance, both physically and professionally, so Sasha chalks it down to mind games and blood fever. Nothing more, just mind games he tells himself. Anything else is too dangerous grounds.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Russian sentence Sasha remembers from his dreams is "No, please! Not in front of him! Please don't!" (Or I hope it is. Google translate says so.)


	35. The Heart of Evil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May - Sasha and Mikey visit The Heart for a couple of days for a family gathering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:**  
>  This chapter contains a transgendered character. Sasha may be expressing himself about him in a way that is offensive to someone who's transgendered. Not out of ill intent, but still. He doesn't quite know how to process transgenderism. Be forewarned if it's a trigger to you. 
> 
> I'm cleaning out my google docs. Got a shitload of almost finished chapters lying around and I might as well publish them. So this isn't newly written. I promise VC isn't abandoned and I'll get back to it once I'm back up to par, writing stuff that actually feels good enough for me. VC is my baby and I refuse to publish stuff that feels like crap to me in that department. This story though may experience some time jumps from here on. I can sort the chapters in order later when we reach November 20th, 2011. The day Mikey and Luci have their fight over Sam.

* * *

**2011**

* * *

May

In the company of Michael and Addi, Sasha’s return goes ‘unnoticed’ at first. The Божја браћа sees him of course, but are caught up in heartfelt greetings of the two brothers he’s accompanying. Sasha walks two steps behind, keeping an eye on everything, filing every gesture and spoken word into his mental cabinet while keeping his face blank. The Sin-Božji mansion is a beautiful combination of luxury and coziness. Despite the white marble, red carpet and huge chandelier in the grand entrance most of the rooms lacked that sterility that came with many luxury homes. This house wasn’t made to impress visitors. It’s interior decor while beautiful, was made for comfort and hominess. In the entrance hall Michael is all but assaulted by hugs from Tyler and Saul who has flown in from South America. Demeter, flown in from the Middle East, greets Addi with a kiss that makes the one Addi gave Mikey seem like the chastest of pecks and makes Sasha want to gag. There’s no doubt those two have passed the brotherly line by miles.

Tyler, only one year older than Michael, slings his arm around Mikey and pulls him along while Saul goes to join Addi and Demeter. Sasha follows Mikey gratefully. Saul and Addi both make his skin crawl. 

“Who’s not coming?” Mikey asks as they walk along.

“None from Africa sadly, Liam gave some sketchy excuse,” Mikey and Tyler share a meaningful look at the mention of Leo’s twin brother. Liam―unlike Lucifer―still worked for the _Porodica_ as conscientiously as ever, but never left Europe to come home. Tyler goes on. “Greg and Doug are no shows―”

“ _Doug_? Why?” Mikey interrupts him, eyebrows shooting skywards.

“Don’t know. I asked and he started talking about cell cultures, microbes and stuff that goes _way_ over my head. You know me―if it isn’t numbers I don’t get it.”

“Right. Who else?”

Tyler rattles off a couple of more names, but a good portion of the brothers are here or will show up. None of the uncles will come. _Good riddance,_ Sasha thinks. They’re too old to travel now. Michael and Tyler turn into a secluded room, Sasha entering and shutting the door behind them and is about to take up post by the wall when Tyler turns towards him grinning broadly. “Aleksandr you old coon. You didn’t think I saw you there?” He holds out his hand and when Sasha takes it he’s tugged into a back-slapping hug. It’s a short one before Tyler steps away.

“Бог брат,” Sasha responds with a smile. He likes Tyler. The guy is a math genius and can work magic with money. He’s got a sunny disposition and keeps himself as far away as possible from ground level work, very much unlike Mikey who prefers to be hands on. Sasha notes how relaxed the both of them looks but then there’s a knock at the door and the two of them both straightens up and takes on a lofty air as if they hadn’t just given a croat the time of day. This time Sasha does take up position by the wall, hands clasped behind his back and eyes focused on a point on the wall opposite.

The door opens and 17 year old Levi comes inside, both of his older brothers relaxing again. “Mikey! I heard you’d arrived,” he says and launches himself at Mikey for a hug. Mikey laughs, gives him a kiss on the temple and ruffles his hair. Tyler closes the door again. It’s clear that he doesn’t want prying eyes. A big change since Sasha was here 7 years ago. Since when were the brothers so cautious of each other? Since Leo and Luci’s dog of course, but still. 

Levi starts babbling about his lessons and things that has happened, bubbling with youthful exuberance. He acknowledges Sasha with a wink and a grin as the brothers sit down on a couch. All Sasha sees is three little boys cuddled up together. For a moment free from what they’re expected to be. Mikey and Tyler both ask questions of Levi, happy not to think of their work. It’s kind of cute. They’re sitting in a three-seat taking up barely one and a half seat together, combing each other’s hair with their fingers or simply holding on to each other. Their need for closeness is extreme but Sasha can understand that.

The mood shifts when Bael and Daniel enters without knocking. It’s subtle and the greetings are as heartfelt as ever, but after that it’s like both Bael and Daniel (flown in from Europe) and Tyler and Mikey keep sizing each other up. There’s a _slightly_ too long pause before they answer questions. It’s just the tiniest fraction of weighting words but Sasha picks up on it. 

Levi leaves and a couple of minutes later the four remaining brothers have relaxed in each other’s company. They avoid talking about the brothers that didn't come. They especially avoid talking about Lucifer and Liam. It takes about fifteen minutes before Daniel gets up and stalks to Sasha and without so much of a word pulls him in for a hug. While hugging back Sasha notes that Bael is looking at them with an expressionless face and Mikey is looking at Bael in the same way. Bael had trouble accepting Croatoan teachers' right to be obeyed as a child. He has, to Sasha’s knowledge, no warmer feelings for any Croatoans. Just as Sasha thinks this will be a problem Daniel retreats with a last squeeze of Sasha’s shoulders and goes straight to Bael to curl up in his lap and nuzzle his throat. Bael gets a very content look on his face and gives Sasha a look that says okay-you’re-forgiven. Sasha holds back a snort of derision. While all together they regressed to kids, or, like now, acted like fucking dogs in a pack. Daniel knew he’d done wrong in front of someone who disapproved and slunk back with his tail between his legs, the nuzzling reminded all too much of a dog licking the mouth of a dominant dog to placate it. It was working though. Thankfully.

There’s a knock on the door and a Croatoan Sasha doesn’t know sticks in his head carefully, looking around until he finds Sasha. “Sir, if you'd come with me? _Otac_ wants to see you in his office.” The young (young? Almost 30 probably. Pfft.) Croatoan says and looks expectantly at Sasha. 

Sasha throws a glance towards Michael and is surprised to find him looking, despite being caught up in a conversation with his brothers. Michael gives a small nod and Sasha turns his attention back to the Croatoan. "Of course. Lead the way," he answers amicably. He knows the way, having been there before, but he is not about to prevent his colleague from doing his job. The Croatoan smiles and starts walking, Sasha following. The younger man keeps looking back at him nervously ever so often. "You got something you want to say, just spit it out,“ Sasha says at last. 

The younger man stops and turns towards him. "Sorry Sir. It’s just that... are you _the_ Aleksandr Chaadayev?" the young man flusters awkwardly. 

Sasha’s mind stutters to a surprised halt for a beat. ' _The_ Aleksandr Chaadayev'? Uttered like he was some kind of celebrity. When did that happen? At Sasha’s blank faced silence the younger man hurries to add “Sasha? Who led the Dragon Lair Op? And…” he rattles off a number of Sasha’s operations, mostly either really big ones he’d led or solo missions when he’d gone undercover.

Sasha’s lips twitches in amusement. “That would be me, yes. And who are you?”

“I’m sorry, Sir. I’m Marco Garcia. But they call me Tyro. I just got made.” He tugs his shirt partly open so he can show his upper arm, revealing the freshly made full ‘ _Croatoan_ ’ carved on his arm. The ‘C’ has been carved over and over but the rest of the letters are new, barely starting to heal. “ _Otac_ carved me himself,” Marco says with wonder. 

_That’s an anomaly._ “So you’re a special little flower then?” Sasha asks with an amused quirk to his lips.

“No. I’m not. I’m just like the rest of you,” Marco says defensively. Sasha can see how the younger guy shutters down and draws within himself. Whatever it was Sasha had stepped on some sore toes.

“Clearly not, or you’d been made by a colleague, or possible one of the Божја браћа. Not the Man himself. And if you think that all the ‘rest of us’ are the same then your training has been cut short because we’re picked for our individual skills and differences,” Sasha needles with a teasing smile. The guy might be close to thirty but he gives off a puppy vibe that makes Sasha want to yank his leash.

“I’m no little flower, Sir,” the guy persists.

Sasha chuckles. “Careful there, things like that will be the exact reason you’ll earn a nickname like ‘Flower’. Believe me. I’ve earned a number of unwanted nicknames over the year.”

“Like ‘The Immortal’?” Marco asks. “But why would that be unwanted?”

“ _The Immortal_? I wish I was, but when have I ever been called that?” Sasha says baffled.

“I don’t know if it’s true, but the story goes that you’ve been killed. But came back. More than once. So they say you can’t be killed and call you The Immortal.”

For some reason this makes Sasha’s skin crawl. “Who does?”

“Some of our colleagues. Those who’ve been long in the game. High ranking ones. Those who _know_.”

Sasha runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “Listen, Marco. I’m as mortal as anyone. I’ve never heard myself referred to as The Immortal. Captain Butterfly, the Silver man, Shadow, Squeamish, Kool Aid― _don’t ask_ ―and a shitload of other stuff, yes. Nicknames happen. But be careful. You’re pushing boundaries right now. You get what I’m saying?”

“I-I’m sorry, Sir. I didn’t mean to pry.” Marco turns and starts walking again, Sasha following. 

Sasha chuckles. "Yeah you did. But don't overstep, Tyro." The previously unknown nickname bothers him. The fact that he's being talked about too. He’d think about it more but then they're at Otac's office and all thoughts are pushed aside by nerves. This never gets any easier. Marco knocks and calls out. "Aleksandr Chaadayev here to see _Otac_.”

“Let him in and then make yourself scarce,” comes the answer.

Marco opens the door for Sasha who steps inside and takes up position a few steps in, hands loosely clasped behind his back, feet in line with his shoulders, facing forward, chin up, eyes locked on a fixed point on an imaginary horizon. His gut is shouting ‘ _Get out! Get out! Get out!_ ’ at him as it always does when he’s in the presence of _Otac_. _Otac’s_ office is huge. A huge mahogany desk facing the door and a conference table to the left. Sasha can see Addi, Saul and Demeter sitting by the conference table pouring over some maps through his peripheral vision. On the floor to his right two young children who looks to be around two and four are playing. Sasha wracks his memory and comes up with Mark and Elliott. He hasn’t met them before, but he keeps himself updated. There’s another child here somewhere, a one year old, Bradley, that he hasn’t met. But he’s not present. None of that matters right now. The man in front of him matters. The one who always sets of Kill Bill sirens in his head when they meet. 

There’s no outward sign as to why that is. It had happened the first time they met too and then Sasha hadn’t even known _who_ he was facing, thus lacking the knowledge of how dangerous the man really was. It didn’t seem to matter, his gut feeling still told him to get the hell away back then.

 _Otac_ gets up from behind his desk and comes around it. “Aleksandr Chaadayev. My favourite attack dog,” he says smiling warmly and holding out his arms. The Божја браћа at the conference table have all three gone still and is watching the encounter with interest and Sasha fights the urge to go down on one knee and bow his head medieval knight style. It’s all bullshit and Sasha isn’t buying it. Sasha isn’t a favourite. _Otac_ is always all warm molasses and bright autumn colours. Until he isn’t. You’d never suspect that this is one of the most dangerous men in the world by looking at him. He’s the shortest one of his brothers, barely reaching Sasha to the chest. He used to be blond, the same hue as Luci and Addi. Then he turned grey, and now he'd gone completely white. He had the same eye colour as Mikey, a warm bluish hue that at times appeared to shift to green. As far as Sasha was concerned they might as well be black like tar all over. He had a bushy moustache, apple cheeks, and had put on weight since Sasha last saw him. He was the spitting image of a kindly grandfather. And yet Sasha had to fight tremors of fear. He doesn’t get how not everyone can see it. The sheer evil the man radiates, twisting his face into something ugly and distorted. He was being ridiculous. He knew that. It was just an ordinary man and he let his fear of this man fuck with his imagination. But he honestly didn't understand how not everyone's gut feeling set off alarms at the sight of him. 

_Otac_ reaches him and grips his biceps, pulling him down and places three kisses on his cheeks. _Right, left, right._ "It's been too long, child. We should have brought you home long ago," he says and pats Sasha’s cheek in a mockery of affection. 

"I go where I'm called, Sir." Sasha is proud that for some reason he was always able to keep his voice steady and hide his tells of fear rather well in _Otac’s_ vicinity. He has a harder time doing it when any of the Божја браћа had him spooked. The better he likes them, the harder it's to hide. Right now his inner beast is clawing his ribcage in desperate panic, wanting to flee. He doesn’t know what's going on or why. _Otac_ is always "friendly" towards him, but this is new. This is too friendly. He makes a mental tally of what may have set him up for punishment. He can't see any other reason as to why _Otac_ would greet him this way, like he was one step below one of his sons.

"Indeed you do. Mikey have informed me that you've done an excellent job working for him and Lulu has thrown a jealous fit about not having you there," _Otac_ chuckles. He means Babyface. "I told him he had enough croats and shouldn't hunger for the only one his brother seems fit to keep with him. But you're here for the duration of Mikey’s stay so I thought we could make use of that. How about it, Chaadayev? Do you feel up to teaching a new generation of my sons?"

"It would be a pleasure as well as an honour, Sir," Sasha says honestly. He keeps his eyes firmly locked on the wall.

“Good. Then it’s settled.”

“Are there any new directives and rules I should know about?”

 _Otac_ studies him carefully with a little knowing smile that has Sasha itching all over. He’s standing way too close for comfort. “No,” he says at last. Amused. Apparently he enjoys making Sasha squirm. And maybe that’s all there is to it, this warm greeting. A form of mind torture. Getting too close just to watch Sasha flail in panic over an upcoming punishment that never comes. Even if Sasha’s tells are minimal _Otac_ is an excellent reader of body language or he wouldn’t have gotten as far as he has. And Mikey wasn’t the only in the family fond of mind games. “Nothing new under the stars, little pet. You smack those bottoms when needed to and hug them when needed. Work your magic. You have excellent results and that’s all that matters.”

There’s a shift in the room, like something heavy has been removed. It’s coming from the Божја браћа at the conference table. Sasha hadn’t really been aware of them being tense until they no longer weren’t. Now he had been assigned a role they knew how they could act around him, what was allowed and what wasn’t. Sasha on the other hand wasn’t so sure anymore. Too much had changed in this house with the tenseness between brothers that never used to be there before. And it’s all because of the “kindly” genius standing in front of him right now. 

Sasha _**hates**_ him.

* * *

The days pass quickly and are quite pleasant. Sasha plays soccer with some of the Божја браћа and a couple of other Croatoans. He plays with and cares for the three youngest boys Elliott 4, Mark 2, and Bradley 1, none of which really stand out to him but he likes them either way. They’re toddlers, how could he not? He holds rudimentary lessons about the use of drugs for Ryan 7, Tony 10, and Scott 12. When he does a couple of demonstrations in the cellars the three youngsters are joined by a bunch of the older Божја браћа, enjoying the show. He demonstrates both his own favoured method of interviewing a subject, (the method he used on Castiel and Sam)―painless and pleasant. He demonstrates terror inducing drugs, and how to work with chemically induced pain. The subjects are all people who have crossed the _Porodica_ one way or another. Except for when he demonstrate his favoured method when he requests that Marco Garcia ‘volunteer’. Marco does without the slightest of hesitation and the sheer hatred for law enforcement and governments that reveals itself underneath that layer of sweet awkwardness is quite shocking. Another interesting fact that was gleaned in that interview is that Marco was born Marcia and the lack of prejudice he’d met with within the _Porodica_ about being transgendered as opposed to the rest of society made him fanatically devoted to their cause.

This Sasha found more than a little startling. He was well aware of the disdain _Otac_ had for women. As a result, there were no female Croatoans. (A mistake according to Sasha.) That a former female was cleared to become one was surprising. He ends up asking Michael about it. He’s failed to get Mikey alone but he finds Michael, Levi and Tyler playing with their younger brother Ryan and it gives him an opening to speak somewhat freely due to the 7 year old Ryan and 17 year old Levi not yet being under the restraints of having to keep proper emotional distance to a Croatoan.

Ryan is sitting on the floor with his siblings playing with action figures when Sasha enters the room. He looks up and squeals in delight when he sees Sasha, scrambles onto his legs and launches himself at Sasha who catches him and hoists him up in the air, catches him and spins him around to Ryan's delight. “Alexandr, guess what? Tyle showed me pictures of you and me. I didn’t know you were the one who brought me home! Wanna see?”

“I was indeed. And I―” he looks up at Tyler to see what he’s allowed to respond but Tyler is already reaching for a photo album on the floor and both Mikey and Levi are grinning warmly at him. “―’d love to see them.” He smiles down at the chubby black kid in his arms, hugging him a bit closer. In 11 years time he wouldn’t be allowed to show his affection anymore. He hates that.

Levi pats the ground besides him between him and Tyler and Mikey tosses a pillow to land over Levi’s hand, so that he could sit more comfortable. Sasha carries Ryan over there and sits down cross legged with the boy in his lap. Levi leans up against his side and Tyler puts the photo album in his lap. “Look here!” Ryan exclaims and opens the album somewhere in the middle. There’s photos of Sasha when he arrived from Europe with little Ryan cradled in his arms like he was a precious black jewel. He was, Sasha remembers. Huge black eyes looking at the world with bleary wonder. He was about two months at the time. Sasha thinks he's Liam's son. Not that it could ever be acknowledged―they'd be forced to grow up viewing each other as brothers. But Liam was the only black brother stationed in Europe at the time and Ryan was as ebony as you could get, indicating that both his parents were black. But what did Sasha know about genetics?

There are other pictures of him with the baby. Feeding him, changing his diapers. Sasha is surprised to see himself smiling in every picture. He’d enjoyed the mission. Taking care of babies wasn't a chore. Then he’d gone on to teaching at the Heart for a while which was an enjoyable task too. "Can I look through the whole album?" he asks. 

"Sure," the brothers answers in a choir. 

He turns to the first page and looks through the pictures with a soft smile he isn't aware of having. The brothers points and comments, jokes and just _are_ while he looks through the album. He loves it. Right now there isn't a trace of the underlying tension that has clung to most of the time visiting so far. In many ways, this is his family too. He can't say it out loud, just as the brothers can't say it. But it's true. He’s part of their childhood and their lives. He knows that. The way Levi has draped an arm over his shoulders and leans his chin on him, the way Ryan hugs him, and the way Tyle and Mikey looks at him―it's all telling him that he has a place here he shouldn’t be allowed to have, but at the same time is the base for his fierce loyalty more than anything else. The transition between teacher to ordinary Croatoan is never easy. 

When he's looked through the album he looks up at Mikey. "Sir? I have a question. About Marco Garcia."

"Shoot."

"Females aren't allowed to be Croatoans. He was born a woman. Why is he an exception?"

Mikey exchanges a slightly confused look with Tyler and Levi before looking back at Sasha. "He was never a woman, Aleksandr. He just happened to be born in the body of one," Michael answers like it's the most natural thing in the world and the idea that it _isn't_ is confusing. Ryan soaks that piece of big brother knowledge in, making it part of how he sees the world as Levi and Tyler nods along. No wonder Marco was so devoted to the Sin-Božji when they consider transgenderism so completely natural. Marco might not be met with that attitude amongst the most Croatoans. But then again, who needs to know? If Marco is a man, then he's a man. End of story. Sasha’s lips twitches in amusement when he realises that he too is soaking their attitude in. He has since the day he was recruited. Accepting the switch between woman and man is not as seamless for him as for the Sin-Božji brothers though. He _had_ worked the trafficking gig after all and that’s more or less the only time he’d encountered transgendered people. That and as prostitutes, and to his knowledge he’d never encountered a trans _man_ before. 

As a result he ended up watching Marco like a hawk when he was around the following days, searching for tells. But when push came to shove he could only find one anomaly and due to clothes it wasn’t all that noticeable. Marco had to shave, he had broad shoulders and a masculine voice, the only tell was his hips. They were broader than usual for a man, but nothing exceptional. He wouldn’t have reacted on it if he wasn’t searching for it.

The scrutiny doesn’t go unnoticed and apparently made Marco nervous. Marco hovered around Sasha a lot. Asking shy questions about the job and Sasha’s career. Sasha enjoyed the admiration. (Marco wasn’t the only one. All the Croatoans at the Heart treated him with deference, almost as much as they would a Бог брат. He didn’t know how or when he’d risen to that kind of power but it was quite exhilarating.) It was when Marco wasn’t paying him explicit attention that Sasha watched him. Wondered. Human curiosity was a bitch. It was none of his business how Marco looked naked but the question grated on him anyway. He tracked Marco when the man passed him outside while Sasha sat leaned against a wall, soaking up some sun while watching two Sin-Božji practise jumping with their horses in a nearby paddock. It struck Sasha that Marco was the first man he’d wanted to see naked since Castiel. He snorted in amusement at himself and shook his head.

Marco stopped dead in his tracks and spun around when he heard Sasha snort, fixing him with a glare that was somewhere between afraid and determined. “Okay, what?”

“What?” Sasha asked right back.

“You’ve been staring at me. I can see you thinking. What is it?”

Sasha lifts his pendant to his lips unconsciously and shakes his head. “It’s nothing.”

Marco steps closer, determination in every fiber of his body now. “It’s something.”

“Very well, it’s something. But it’s none of my business so just let it go.”

“No.” 

Sasha grunts at the show of defiance and considers how to proceed. You don’t go around asking people how they look naked. It’s private. It’s none of his fucking business and just because he’s curious doesn’t mean he has a right to know. But Marco is not backing down. _You brought it up, kid. Suit yourself._ “I’m trying to figure out what you look like naked.”

Marco draws himself up to look bigger and crosses his arms over his chest, lips a thin line and hostility draped over him as a cloak. “You’re right. That’s none of your business.”

“That’s what I said.”

“That’s like me asking if you’re circumcised.”

“It is,” Sasha agrees, keeping his lips from twitching in amusement. Marco should just keep walking now but the man, posture all defensive and defiant, wasn’t letting go. This sort-of-showdown was going to happen.

“Are you?” Marco asks cockily and raises an eyebrow.

Sasha feels like throwing his head back in laughter. The cockiness is… cute. He schools his features to not reveal any of his thoughts, keeping his lip quirked a tiny bit, then in one smooth movement jumps up to a standing position. It’s ridiculous really. He’s showing off, demonstrating his agility. Somewhere in the back of his mind―despite his eyes telling him differently―he thinks of Marco as a woman. Partly at least. Not in a demeaning way because god knows women are just as capable and dangerous foes with their own set of talents and strengths (which is why it’s a mistake not allowing them to be Croatoans), but it guides his way to act right now.

He moves up to Marco leisurely, putting every ounce of relaxed large predator in his posture and enjoys the way the confidence bleeds away from the younger man the closer he gets. Marco needs to work on that. He shouldn’t show he’s intimidated unless he does so on purpose. Which he isn’t as he visibly steels himself as Sasha approaches. Sasha rounds him partly―never letting go of his gaze―before turning to face him head on, hooking his thumbs in the hem of his jeans loosely making his hands rest in a relaxed ‘look-at-my-package’ position. It’s silly, but if the boy wants to play posturing games he could play along. “No,” he says with a faintly amused smile.

“What. And now you expect me to answer your question?” Marco says defensively and scowls. He has turned so he’s facing Sasha head on.

Sasha takes a step closer and Marco backs up, another step closer, and another… Marco hits the wall behind him and fear briefly flickers behind his eyes. It both annoys Sasha and thrills him. “I never asked a question, Tyro. You did.” He lets his gaze roam down the length of Marco’s body and up again. “You bade me tell you why I’m hard pressed to take my eyes of you.” He chooses his wording as he would if Marco was a woman, in a way that it holds double meanings. “In fact, you demanded I tell you. So I did.” He puts a hand on the wall beside Marco’s head and crowds a little closer, looming, but still keeping a relaxed and faintly amused posture.

Marco says nothing. He’s tense and nervous, eyes darting around quickly to take stock of who’s within sight and possible escape routes before going back to lock on Sasha’s. As the silence drags on more fear is visible in his eyes.

Sasha breaks the silence. “You’re afraid. What do you think I’m going to do to you?”

“I don’t know.”

“I figured that. I didn’t ask what you know, I asked what you _think_.” He senses another bullshit answer and flips the switch in his posture and gaze, making himself hard, adding full authority. “Don’t lie―” he demands sternly, in a way that reminds of the mantra ‘Don’t lie to a Бог брат’ that they all get hammered into them.

“I think you’re gonna hurt me, Sir. Because of what I am,” Marco answers rushedly and Sasha relaxes his posture again.

Sasha reaches up with the hand not on the wall and through the T-shirt traces the ‘Croatoan’ carved on Marco’s arm without looking away from the other man’s eyes. They’re quite beautiful. Big, dark warm brown, framed by long lashes. “Why? We’re on the same side, aren’t we?”

“Friendly fire isn’t,” Marco deadpans, making Sasha grin at hearing one of his favourite expressions from the younger man’s lips.

“Quite right, Marco. But you aren’t under fire right now. Have I really given you reason to believe I have ill intent towards you?” Sasha tilts his head and uses a friendly expression. There’s a mix of confusion and suspicion in Marco’s face now, but he relaxes slightly. 

“No, Sir. You haven’t.”

Sasha licks his lips. “Have I got a reputation of taking what i want without permission? Of forcing myself on unwilling partners?”

Frankly, Sasha is as surprised as Marco at what he’s saying. He wonders what the hell is wrong with him when just knowing a guy was once a girl and possibly still has a pussy makes him count as a possible ‘partner’. It’s all Castiel’s fault. He hadn’t been looking at Marco _like that_ , he’d just been scientifically curious up until now. What he just said was meant to mess with the guy’s head but once he says it out loud he realises he isn’t put off by the thought of making his advances real. He gives Marco another once over. There’s really nothing feminine about him. 

“No, Sir. You don’t,” Marco’s voice comes out slightly breathless, with wonder. He relaxes further, his feet sliding forward a fraction and his legs opening up to a V, granting Sasha access and who would have thought? Sasha looks back up. Marco is wearing a I-can’t-believe-this-is-happening expression. That makes two of them feeling like that, except Sasha is sporting a self-confident smile, hiding his emotions well.

“Then what makes you think I would start now?”

“I don’t…” Now Marco is reevaluating the situation, taking Sasha in, their proximity, looking back up, eyes catching on Sasha’s lips again when he licks them. There’s interest in his eyes now indeed. Sasha interprets every little nuance of body language he can, just to be sure that he’s reading Marco correctly. It’s the first time he has flirted with a guy and intended to touch him in an intimate way without it being to intimidate or frighten, but to seduce. Castiel didn’t count. There hadn’t been any purposeful seduction per se. Just reluctant acceptance of things that happened after they happened. It had been rough and disconcerting while it happened. His own actions right now may be just as unsettling and disconcerting but he stoves those thoughts away for later and just goes with it.

He leans closer still, but this time Marco relaxes, soothed by the closing distance. “But I couldn’t, now could I?” Sasha says with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. He leans in towards Marco’s ear and says lowly, barely brushing the shell of the ear, “Because you’re not unwilling…” He sees the shiver it causes and how both Marco’s pulse jumps at his throat and his chest starts heaving with heavier breaths. 

“Aleksandr! I don’t mean to be a cockblock―” Michael calls out and interrupts them. Marco flinches and is about to dive away but Sasha stops him by putting his other hand on the side of his head so he’s boxed in. 

“Then why the fuck are you, _Sir_?” Sasha yells back peevishly, still looking down on Marco. Marco has closed his eyes and is blushing furiously. It’s cute and entertaining.

Michael laughs. “Need you for a job. Now, _heel_. Here, boy,” he says and whistles like he’s calling a dog, patting his thigh.

Sasha chuckles. “Some other time then, eh, Tyro?” he says to Marco. Marco makes a strangled sound that’s both mortified and affirmative. Sasha pushes himself off the wall and hurries towards Michael who’s standing with Addi, Saul, and Tyler, waiting for him. All four of them wearing different levels of shiteating grins. Sasha throws a look over his shoulder when he’s almost there. Marco is still in place by the wall, looking after him, dazed. He winks to Marco before stopping in front of Michael. “Alright. What’s the gig, Sir?”

Saul is the one to speak up. “What’s the gig? You think we’ll just let what we just saw slip?” he grins.

“Nu-uh,” Tyler agrees.

Sasha gives them all a ‘what of it?’ kind of look.

“We didn’t know you swung that way,” Addi says with a smirk, like it’s exceedingly funny for some reason.

“What?” Sasha answers with a frown. “A pussy’s a pussy.”

The brothers loses it at that, erupting in scandalized laughter. Tyler smacks him chastising on the arm hard and Addi ruffles his hair like he said something pleasing. Saul slings his arm around Sasha’s shoulder and starts leading him away, the others trailing along. Sasha wishes he could shrug Saul off him. “Just don’t say that to Marco,” Saul says.

“No, no. Please do! Preferably somewhere when we are present to enjoy the show!” Addi disagrees enthusiastically and then they starts bantering amongst themselves while Michael fills him in on the job. They’re about to take Martin, 15, and Eric, 14, on a training mission but due to how dangerous it is they’re going with and they’re taking Sasha and another Croatoan as backup. The whole operation has a boys-will-be-boys feel to it with so many Божја браћа along. Sasha hates having Addi at his back when they attack another mob driven operation. His back crawls like he’s expecting to take a bullet from Addi any minute. It’s really a dangerous job. They’re too few and their opposition is well armed but taken by surprise. It all goes well though and in the end it turns out that part of the mission was a lesson for Martin and Eric about why the Croatoans are so important. 

Later in the evening the whole atmosphere has shifted back to the guarded, half paranoid feeling. The Божја браћа weighing all their words carefully when they talk. Sasha is being ignored by all but the youngest. He thinks it’s a backlash from being so relaxed with him earlier. He considers searching out Marco, decides against it and seeks his quarters instead. There’s a note from Marco on his bed.

“ _I got new orders and am shipping out to South America._  
_Until we meet again, please, ‘hold that thought’..._  
_\- Flower_ ”

Part of Sasha is relieved, part of him is disappointed. Rather than spending any time thinking and analyzing what it meant to his sexuality that he was fine considering fucking a guy just because he was born a woman he lays down on the bed and calls Anna. Out of sight, out of mind.

* * *


	36. Baby blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> August. Sasha thinks too much.

* * *

**2011**

* * *

August

They're sitting naked on the middle of the bed, facing each other. Anna with her legs on either side of him. He caresses the skin under her eyes gently. The poisoning is taking its toll. She’s paler now, darker circles under her eyes. She is losing weight slowly. A tragedy he thinks, she sees it as something positive―imprinted by a society that honours the skinny and mocks the curvy. She’s still beautiful. He thinks she always will be, even on her deathbed. That’s still far off though. He can’t stop staring into her eyes. They’re Castiel’s. The more time he spends with her the more likeness he finds, and his memories close in on him as if his Princess didn’t leave him years ago. “I love your eyes,” he says. His voice is soft, warm, and Anna smiles. Her fingers trail gently over the skin at his sides, absentmindedly. He leans closer, her eyes falling shut and he kisses her eyelids, one after the other. Her eyes opens again looking up at him with unadulterated trust. That too was a trait shared with Castiel. Except he knew very well what Sasha was capable of and his trust wasn't tainted by naivety like Anna's. It wasn't tainted by innocence. It was like he had made a decision to trust no matter what it cost him, knowing the price.

Sasha runs his fingers through the silky threads of Anna's fiery hair. It’s thinner and straighter than Castiel’s. He gathers it all in a tail and slowly winds it around his fist. Then he tugs gently, bending her head back to reveal the long pale stretch of her throat. She goes with it, lets him. Totally unaware of the danger he poses to her. He strokes her throat with his free hand, cups the side of her neck, his thumb running up and down her throat, feeling her larynx move when she swallows. 

_Maybe I should just get it over with. It'd be a kindness. A quick yank and her neck will snap, or just close my hand around her throat, cutting off both air and blood to the brain. She won't know what's happening until she's dead. Hardy any time to panic. The fear will be minimal._

_You’re not here to be kind._

He kisses his way down her neck, stops to rest his lips against her pulse, feeling the steady beat in the vein with his tongue. He imagines biting down hard. He wouldn’t dare, knowing how contaminated she is. As far as he knows, once the poison reaches her blood it's broken down and changed, no longer a threat to anyone but Anna herself. Still, the idea that she might be contagious is there. He scrapes his teeth lightly against the side of her neck in a mock bite and feels her shudder, seeing goosebumps form in his wake.

_You should be shuddering out of fear of me, little red. Those goosebumps should be formed by terror._

_Why can't you sense it? Why doesn't your gut tell you to run? Why don't you run, little red?_

It saddens him that she can't feel it. That she doesn't look him in the face and sees Death, like he does when he looks at _Otac_. She’s such a sweet, innocent creature. A tiny doe to his huge lion. Shouldn't prey be able to sense a predator? _He_ could sense them after all. Why couldn't she? Why didn't people see him coming? Or Michael? When Michael and Lucifer were together people would smile prettily towards Mikey and tiptoe around Luci. They _were_ capable of the same unpredictable violence, but out of the two Mikey was the one to be wary of for a mudmonkey. And yet…

He lets go of her hair and kisses his way down her shoulders to her breasts, strokes her back and supports her neck and back when he lays her down. Her breasts are sweet. Small, perky, with cherry pink nipples against alabaster skin. His large tanned hand swallows the full breast up in his palm. The contrast between their skintones is so big he almost appears to be of colour rather than caucasian. He finds the contrast very appealing. He sucks the other nipple into his mouth, nibbling lightly and swirls his tongue around it, feeling it harden.

Anna doesn’t say anything, just looks down at him with a smile. Her eyes conveys happiness. He runs his hand along the side of her ribcage, mourning that he can see her ribs nowadays. The healthy thin layer of fat that used to cover them is gone now. It’ll get worse. He’ll have to slip her supplements for weight gain or she might become alarmed.

He crawls down a step, hands roaming her stomach. He kisses her belly button and down just below it. One of his hands plays absentmindedly with her red public hair, the other caresses her lower abdomen, drawing circles around her belly button, then goes down to draw something else below, something akin to a butterfly, or a heart. Anna supports herself on her elbows, tilts her head and squints down at him, trying to figure out what he’s drawing. The gesture is so much Castiel it twists his heart. They hadn’t grown up together. Could gestures be genetic? They were full siblings after all. Or was it something their mother did, and that’s why they both did it?

He looks at her belly, outwardly at least, but his mind is stuck on what’s hidden underneath. She shares genes with Cas. If she became pregnant the child would be part him, and―in a way―part Castiel.

_Would you have their eyes? Would you tilt your head and squint when something puzzles you? Or would you have grey eyes like me? Would your uncle's madness run in your veins? Or would you be soft and sweet like your mother? Strong, yet doomed to go under because I can't protect you against what I am unless you’re mad like the rest of us._

These are treacherous thoughts. He shouldn’t be thinking about babies that were part of him and part of Castiel, even if it was just by proxy. It makes his heart beat faster and a wave of longing hit him like a tidal wave. It takes but a second for that longing to be replaced by craving for drugs. Something, anything, to make this cagey feeling go away. So that every breath didn’t feel like it got stuck in his throat and had to be manually ripped up and down with each inhale and exhale. He kisses the bump below her belly button lovingly and tries to reason with himself, let logic and tactics guide his thoughts instead.

It would in fact not be a bad idea to get Anna pregnant. She wouldn’t question mounting nausea, getting more and more tired, strange aches, getting bruises for nothing. Yet a part of him claws at his inside, rips at him, rebels at the thought.

_It’s too late for these thoughts. She’s too far gone. Even if she survives long enough to have the child there’s a risk of the baby being harmed. Even if I stopped giving her poison right now._

_Stop it, Sash! That’s still not tactics. That’s wanting to keep a part of Castiel to yourself. Stop this nonsense **right now!**_

_Tactically speaking, the horror she’ll feel will be double when I leave her dying alone in a hospital, when she realises her baby will die along with her._

_**Your** baby, Sash. Your own baby. Could you really kill him or her? Knowingly?_

_Nononononono!!!_

_Yes, I could._

_No. You couldn’t back then. You couldn’t now. It’s too late. Don’t go there. Retreat! For fucks sake, retreat!_

Flaming red hair like Anna and grey eyes like his. Probably tall. Everyone in _his_ family had been tall. Anna wasn’t very tall but Castiel had a decent height, and by the look of the pictures he’d seen their mother had been tall. The genes were there. Another soft kiss is placed on the bump, the first place a pregnancy would start to show on.

“What are you thinking about?” Anna asks.

“How so?” he counters with a little smile. His pendant has nestled in her soft pubic hair. He tries not to see any symbolism in this.

“You were smiling, but you looked so sad at the same time. So what were you thinking?”

He takes his time answering, drawing out the shape that had puzzled her before, over and over. A spiral that dips down in a V-shaped point, to go up and form another spiral on the other side. Then he looks up at her with a warm smile. “I was thinking of life. Miracles. _Ovaries_.” He winks.

_You’re getting dumber with age, Sash. You keep this up you’ll end up dead before you know it._

For a moment she frowns, then her eyes widens with realisation and there are too many feelings going on behind her eyes for him to know what she makes of it.

Later, when he reaches for a condom to enter her, she takes it from his hands and throws it to the floor without saying a word, just looking at him with a vulnerable smile and a thousand emotions in her eyes. He should have stopped. Told her that it’s a bad idea. Given her one of thousand excuses. He doesn’t. She clings to him as he fucks her and he buries his head in the crook of her neck, squeezing his eyes shut until the stinging behind his eyelids goes away. He feverishly hopes none of his runners reaches their goal as he comes inside of her.

* * *

_Stupid, stupid, stupid! What the hell am I doing?_

Thinking will be the death of him. He shouldn’t do it. Just follow orders and be content. He doesn’t want to go home in case Michael comes over. _He’ll_ see Sasha’s agitation at once and wonder what’s up. And this is something Sasha isn’t ready to share with Mikey. _At all_. No. Thoughts like these, if spoken aloud, have to be told to someone outside of the _Porodica_. There are memories haunting him now, really old ones. So repressed that even when he brings them up and look at them it’s like remembering a movie―something that happened to someone else. Something he’s heard about and imagined, not lived through. He’s not actually sure they _are_ memories. Maybe they’re just thoughts that haunted him when he was younger, to the extent that they felt almost real. The human mind is a wondrous thing. It could fuck up facts, repress, construct, anything really, to either help you cope or fuck you up. And there was no way for you to know if it was a constructed memory or not because you lived in your head and only had access to the data your brain chose to share with you.

_Stupid!_

He gets into his car and drives off. He drives aimlessly and way too fast. There’s a fog outside making it hard to see very far. He’s not sure how long he’s driven, he’s somewhere on the small roads in the mountains above twin towns. The elk just kind of materialises out of the fog and he hasn’t got a decent chance to stop in time.

* * *


	37. Back where it belongs...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> August - Dean Winchester comes to tow a car that has crashed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:**  
>  \- implicated child death

* * *

**2011**

* * *

August

Dean jumps out of the Singer Auto tow truck and walks up to the man leaning casually against the car. “Sorry it took a while. You didn’t exactly get us much of a description to go by,” he calls out as he approaches.

The man grins at him and pushes himself off from the carside. “I don’t know about that. For someone who got ‘high altitude, trees, dirt road, and a shitload of fog’ to go by you made it here surprisingly fast.” He offers his hand in greeting. “Dmitri Krushnic,” he says as Dean shakes it.

“Dean Winchester, Singer Auto.” Dean takes stock of the man and the car while he’s up close. The front of the car is totally demolished and the man―tall, muscular, grey hair, somewhere around his late thirties, handsome―is bleeding from his forehead and has more blood on his heathered bluish grey shirt. “Dude, are you okay? You are bleeding.”

“I’m fine. It’s just a scratch and a bump in the forehead. This―” he gestures at the blood on his shirt, “―is from the poor fucker I hit.”

“What was it?”

“An elk. Tracked him down a couple of hundred meters that way,” he points down the road Dean came from. “There was nothing I could do for him except end his misery. So if you feel like filling your belly with roadkill you’re welcome to it. I won’t tell the landowner.” Dmitri gives him a lopsided smile. His eyes are a bit unfocused.

“Don’t mind if I do. Bobby’ll probably give you a bit of a discount as a thanks. But dude, seriously. Are you sure you’re okay? Maybe you should go to the hospital and get that looked at. This seems to have been a motherfucker of a collision and you might have a concussion.”

Dmitri snorts in amusement. “Oh, I’m sure I’ve got a minor concussion. But I’d rather not go to the hospital. Too many bad memories, you get what I’m sayin? If I ain't dyin, I ain't goin.”

Dean could relate the hell out of _that_. Just thinking about sitting by Sam’s hospital bedside waiting and wondering if he would ever wake up made a chill run through his spine. “Yeah. I feel ya. You wanna hitch a ride with me back to Freeville or should I hook you up with a cab to take you somewhere else?”

"I'd appreciate a ride, thanks."

Dean is a bit worried for the man. His eyes look a bit glazed. He doesn’t smell of alcohol despite appearing somewhat drunk. And whatever Dmitri says, an accident of this magnitude came with shock which definitely could be the reason for the tipsylike amusement. "How many fingers am I holding up?" he asks and holds up a couple of fingers.

Dmitri looks at his hand and scowls. "What? Do I look like a math genius to you?" 

Dean feels stressed out and wonders what the hell he's supposed to do if the guy has more than a mild concussion. It must have shown because Dmitri's lips twitches in amusement. “ _Kidding_. Four. Now come on. Let's get this piece of junk hitched to your truck," he says and claps Dean on the shoulder. 

Dean tries to convince him to wait in the truck after he's put a bag on the passenger side, but he refuses. He very efficiently helps Dean get the car on the truck before he gets in. They drive a little bit down the road where they get out to collect the elk. "Holy shit. That’s a big motherfucker. No wonder your car is wrecked."

Dmitri makes a sturgeon face. "Size didn’t save him," he says with a shrug.

The stag was quite badly injured but it was a gunshot to the head that killed it. Dean flicks his gaze over Dmitri, seeing no gun and discerning that it must be lying in the bag in the footwell of the passenger seat. It doesn’t worry him. Dean too has his favourite gun with him in the truck. But he makes note of it.

It takes some coaxing and fiddling with ropes and chains to get the elk stag onto the truck but it goes smoothly with Dmitri's help. The guy is obviously not shy of hard work (even if he should be resting with a concussion) and takes instructions like a champ. Aside from seeming overall amused and a tad bit out of it he shows no signs of confusion, slurred speech, headache, unstable legs or really anything else that would implicate worse brain damage than he's admitted to.

Once back in the truck and on the road again Dmitri digs up a first aid kit out of his bag and uses the overhead mirror to inspect and clean up the head wound. It isn't that bad, like he said. "You shy, Dean? You mind if I get this bloody shirt off me and inspect the rest of the damages?" Dmitri asks, still seeming generally amused. 

"Knock yourself out."

"Drive carefully then. I'll be taking my seatbelt off and I'd prefer not to fly through a windshield. One elk on the truck is enough, you get what I’m sayin?" He winks at Dean. 

Dean chuckles. "Don’t worry. I'll drive as if I was driving my Baby."

Dmitri gives Dean an odd look.

"It's my car. An Impala '67. I call her my Baby," Dean clarifies. 

"Ah. Fucking babies was what got me in the accident in the first place," Dmitri grumbles as he unbuckles his seatbelt and pulls his shirt over his head. He’s built as fuck. All firm muscles and some dark hair on his chest. Dean thinks maybe he's a bit younger than he first thought judging by the colour of his chest hair and happy trail. He has a surprising amount of scars, but nothing that distracts from how toned he is. There’s a big long bruise where the seat belt had been in the collision and Dmitri feels along it, checking for broken or damaged ribs. 

_Watch the fucking road, Winchester! What are you? Some fucking faggot or what?_

_Shut up! I'm just worried about the guy’s health, that's all. Guy was in a fucking car crash. There’s nothing odd with worrying about a fellow human, right? Right. Besides, it's perfectly natural to recognise that another guy has a toned body._

"How the hell does babies cause a car crash?"

Dmitri chuckles. "My girlfriend and I stopped using contraception."

"Oh. Um... as in 'fuck no' or 'yay finally'?"

Dmitri digs up a cool pack out of his bag and holds it high up on his chest over the bruise, near his shoulder. It makes his skin go all goosebumpy and causes his nipples to stiffen. He’s got an angel pendant resting between the top of his pecks. The silver contrasting sharply towards his tan but catching the colour of his hair and eyes. It's fucking indecent, that's what it is. 

Dmitri watches Dean silently for a beat, looking contented and amused. "You ever want kids, Dean?"

"Yeah, I guess..."

"Do the whole white picket fence thing? Find the right partner, work nine to five, get two point three kids and live in the suburbs?"

"Well, yeah. Kinda. Maybe not the nine to five thing, but you know. Find the right girl and settle down somewhere near my brother and build a home... Not yet perhaps. I mean, I think I've found the right girl already. We've been dating for three months now and I think she's _the one_ , you know?" He thinks of Lisa and butterflies flits around in his belly. He can't believe he's been so lucky to get her. She told him that she loves him. He’s being a chicken shit and hasn't said it back, afraid they’re moving too fast. But he’s in love with her too. He should tell her. He will. Maybe tonight? She is going out on a girls night out. Maybe he should stop by and surprise her. He just wishes that she and Sam would get along better. "But three months, ...I dunno. It’s a bit early to think about kids and stuff. You can’t really know that soon, now can you?"

"Three months is a lifetime, Dean. I ain't saying you'll know if it'll last forever but the brain is the part that needs time, not the heart. Three months is more than enough to get fucked up on someone."

Dean throws a look at Dmitri and is distracted by the way the dusky nipples are peaked by the cold.

_Jezuz, buddy. Put a fucking shirt on._

Like he was reading Dean’s mind the older man grunts and puts the cool pack back in his bag and digs out a clean tee, this one a dark grey, and puts it on before fastening his seatbelt. “You ever seen a newborn, Dean?” Dmitri asks, watching the road. He still has the faintly drifting vibe of someone tipsy. A slight smile on his face. He continues speaking without waiting for an answer, making the question rhetorical. “They’re ugly creatures really. Skin all red and blue, head all squished to fit coming out of a pussy and they’re wet, covered in blood and grease. So small and defenseless. And you get that tiny ugly person in your arms―” Dmitri mimics cradling a baby in his arms, looking down on the imaginary baby with an expression of soft wonder. “―and it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen in your whole existence. He has just only figured out how to breathe by himself and screams his discontent at you and you can’t fucking breathe yourself because he takes your breath away. He grips your finger with his tiny fucking perfect hand, because newborns don’t have those chubby little hands you’re used to see on a baby yet. No, they’ve got miniature replicas of adult hands, slim fingers with jagged fingernails. He grips your finger and in a heartbeat every duty you’ve ever had, every oath you’ve ever sworn, are rendered moot by him because he’s part of you and everything you are is henceforth devoted to his protection and him...”

Something tugs at Dean’s heart. A deep longing to have that, to experience that. He’s only 22. Logically he shouldn’t think about it for years yet, but he does. He still remembers the reverence he felt when they brought Sammy home and he became a big brother. The memory is hazy and from a child’s perspective but the feeling of awe lingers when he thinks of it. He imagines him and Lisa having a baby and he fucking wants that. He really does. Three months and he’s head over heels in love with her. Dmitri is right. It _is_ a lifetime. He can see them growing old together. Having kids and living the picket fence life. They’d be happy.

_I’m definitely going by the club tonight and surprise her by telling her I love her. Didn’t Victor mention he was going to the same place? He did. I can use that as an excuse to why I’m intruding on her girls’ night out._

Dmitri’s soft smile melts off his face. He’s still looking at the imaginary child but his expression turns sad and numb. “...And when you fail that task―as you’re doomed to do as he’s born in the burned out ruins of an apartment building in the middle of a war zone with machine guns smattering in the background―he takes a part of you with him that you can never get back. You berate yourself for ever thinking you could be part of bringing life into this world. You’re an instrument of death―a tool. Not even your own tool. You’re _property_ and the streets run red with the blood you shed on orders of others so what the fuck were you thinking? That you somehow could, had the _right to_ , create life. That you could somehow take care of a baby by yourself in the middle of fucking Bosnia on active duty. The odds were stacked against you to begin with and of course you’ll fail. You learn the hard way that loving you's a bloodsport and the best protection you could ever offer someone you love is stay as far away from them as humanly possible unless they too are tools of destruction.”

The chill that grips Dean is so deep that he has to pull over and stop the truck. “ _Jezuz_ Christ,” he breathes and stares wide eyed at the man beside him. He has to reevaluate his age because the war he thinks Dmitri is talking about happened around the time Sam was born as far as he knows, maybe earlier, and grey hair or not, the dude doesn’t look that old. But he must be between forty and fifty. They say there’s nothing more painful than losing a child. (Possibly losing a brother, but he’s biased.) The guy paints such a vivid picture, but despite the bitterness of the wording it's delivered with a soft drifting tone. Like he’s passed by bitterness, anger, and grief a long time ago and gone over into a gentle and content acceptance. _What the hell do you say to something like that?_ "I'm sorry. It must have been really fucking hard for you..." 

Dmitri shugs. "You know, I'm not even sure if it's a memory or not? It could just be something I've heard told, imagined, or seen on TV. I don't know. I remember the war well enough, but this feels distant. I don't remember losing sleep over it. It could have happened and my brain has filed into being fiction as a coping mechanism. Or, it hasn't happened and it's just my fear playing tricks on me, you get what I’m sayin?" Dmitri chuckles and shakes his head. "But when I made love to my girlfriend yesterday and it hit me that she could get pregnant... I wondered if the kid would have his eyes and this just popped into my mind."

_His eyes? Whose? The kid he lost?_

"So I got into the car this morning, put the pedal to the metal and tried to escape what was in my head and then the fucking elk materialises out of nowhere. _Bam_. But you can’t escape what’s in your head so this suits me right." He gestures to the back at the demolished car.

"But you could have kids now. The war is over."

Dmitri shakes his head. "The war is never over. It goes on in here," he pats his chest, "and in here." He gestures at his head. "People like me, warriors, no matter what side they fight for... military, law enforcement, criminals. Green, blue or black, it doesn't matter. It’s all different shades of dark and the darkness stays with you, you get what I’m sayin? I’m perpetually stuck on a battlefield. I wouldn’t mind having kids. There isn’t anything I would hesitate to sacrifice for that kid. What scares me is what he or she would have to sacrifice for _me_. You feel me?”

Dean starts the truck again, drives off and thinks of his dad. About the demons that haunted him and the consequences it had brought upon their family. “I feel ya. I feel ya…”

* * *

Sasha walks from Singer Auto. He’s got a killer headache and feels distant and floating at the same time. On the list of things not to do with a concussion he’s ticked off nearly every one. He recalls Dean’s face when he started the truck again when Sasha talked about sacrifices. How he had stared at the road ahead, muscles at his jaw ticking, kill face shuttering in place. “ _I feel ya. I feel ya…_ ” It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Dean had sacrificed way too much for his father (or mother). A warrior's son, shrouded by the darkness that lived inside of his parent.

Sasha lifts his phone and calls Doug. “Hey, it’s Aleksandr Chaadayev. I’ve got a question. I need to make sure Anna doesn’t get pregnant without knowing she’s getting contraceptives. What would you recommend in combination with what I’m currently giving her? How big’s the risk of her getting pregnant when she’s in this stage of developing her disease?” He wants to ask how likely a child would be to be harmed by what’s happening to Anna. If there’s a sliver of hope for a baby to survive unharmed and if she’d be able to live long enough to have it before she dies. He doesn’t. Dean’s hateful face is enough to stop him. Sasha isn’t meant to be a father. This is how it needs to be. He should have lied about what he was thinking when she asked yesterday.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

After the phone call he goes home to tick another thing you shouldn’t do with a concussion off the list. He goes to bed and sleeps twelve hours straight. The longing that had been plaguing him since yesterday pushed back far into the darkest recesses of his mind.

* * *


	38. Bucket List Experience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anna and Sasha are watching a movie when Sasha suddenly out of nowhere gets turned on. Anna insists on finding out why...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:**  
>  \- Dubcon elements  
> \- Sexual torture  
> \- **GOOGLE TRANSLATED RUSSIAN!** \- Feel free to correct me if you speak Russian, since I have no way of checking grammar and words for wrongs and rights.
> 
>  **Notes:**  
>  For some reason I had it written but had chosen not to publish it. I don't really remember why. Well, you've got my wonderful Beta Mizz_kitty21 to thank for this being published.
> 
>  **TMI:** Loosely based on real life experiences.

* * *

**2011**

* * *

Early October

She’s lying between his legs on the couch, her back against his chest and his chin against the top of her head. They are watching some crappy scary movie where everybody was dumb, wandered off and got murdered so blood gushed everywhere. Dmitri is no fan of scary movies. He snorted and muttered quietly about how unrealistic it was throughout the whole movie. Sometimes he didn’t even bother to grump his displeasure in English, but in Russian. Anna haven’t mentioned this to Dmitri, but she has definitely developed a language kink. She is a bit too embarrassed to ask him to speak Russian to her. It felt weird to be turned on when she doesn’t understand what he says.

Now Dmitri has been quiet for a while though, and suddenly she becomes aware that he’s getting hard. She feels it through her tee at her back―increased heat from his crotch and yeah, his dick isn’t soft anymore. She grins. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing.”

She chuckles at his offhanded answer. “I can _feel_ that you’re thinking about something. And it’s not about the movie.” He shifts, trying hide the evidence of his arousal and now Anna laughs outright and twists her head up to look at him. “Don’t even try, big boi. It’s too late. Now fess up. What are you thinking about?”

“It’s no big deal. You are lying like that, I got an idea in my head and started fantasising. It’s nothing to get hung up about.” He seems a bit uncomfortable. He’s never uncomfortable about sex.

“Were you fantasising about someone else?”

His lips twitch in amusement. “No, Princess. It was about you. But it’s one of those fantasies that should never see the light of day, if you get what I’m saying? Everybody has those. So just leave it be?”

Now her curiosity is thoroughly piqued. “Why?”

He draws a big breath and lets it out. “Because it’s kind of rapey. There’s nothing that turns me off as much as rape, but this is a bit different and I got excited. Please, Anna. Leave it be.”

_Like hell I will._

“No. I really wanna know now. Come on, Dimi. Tell me.”

He makes a face, looks away, then looks back at Anna, evaluating. “I don’t want you to judge me for a fantasy, okay?”

“I won’t. I promise.”

She wonders exactly how rapey it is, if he is this uncomfortable talking about it.

He looks at her for a couple of beats longer, face unreadable, then there’s a sly gleam in his eyes and his lips quirk in a tiny lopsided smirk. "Okay. I was thinking of torturing you."

_Wow. So not what I was expecting._

"What? Like, with whips and stuff?"

Dmitri chuckles and looks impish. "No. Not even close." He trails his hands down her sides and up over her stomach and chest. "With pleasure."

"Pleasure? That doesn’t sound like torture to me."

"The way I was imagining it―it is.”

“ _Uh-huh_? And how _do_ you imagine it?”

His demeanor has switched to all playfulness now. He teases her nipples lightly through the fabric of her tee and brushes her forehead with his lips when he answers, lowering his already deep voice to a smooth husk. “I was thinking about having you laid out like this on top of me and making you come. Over and over and over again. Until you’re nothing but a whimpering mess. Until your juices are flowing so freely it’d soak through my pants underneath. Until you’re so over-sensitive a featherlight touch would set you off. You’d barely be coherent. Your whole world would be consumed by the feeling. Sensory overload at its most extreme. I know your body well enough by now, that I think I could do it. I thought about it and it made me excited, that's all."

"That doesn’t sound that bad..." Anna says with a smile and shivers when Dmitri’s hands slowly work their way across her body where he can reach, teasing sensitive spots. Her nipples are already peaking and she can feel the tingling start of arousal between her legs. "Why would I judge you for that?"

Dmitri’s amused chuckle vibrates through her back. "Oh, but it's bad little girl. Normally I give you a respite. Let you recuperate between the orgasms and keep it to two or three maximum, not to tax your body too much." One of his hands finds her pussy and strokes teasingly up and down over her clit on top of her yoga pants. "I wouldn't do that now. You know how they talk about how too much pleasure turns to pain? It doesn't, but it might as well do because the effect equals to the same. You'd scream and try to get away."

Anna moans and rolls her hips towards his hand, trying to get more friction that he doesn’t grant her. Her eyes has fallen shut and arousal is burning under her skin. "Uh-huh," she breathes. "I don't think that’s possible, to get that high..."

Another dark chuckle. "But it is, little girl. And I could do it to you. And now for the rapey part... I wouldn't stop. No safe word. There is no safe words in torture. I'd go at it Omaha beach D-day style. Once I got going there'd be no turning back. I'd take you to your limit and beyond. You'd scream yourself hoarse, beg, maybe even cry because you couldn’t handle the pleasure anymore, and still I'd go on. You’d OD on euphoria. You’d feel like you couldn’t breathe, like your heart will give out. And still I'd go on. I’d break down every wall inside of you, every shred of control you have in yourself, erase every inhibition and wipe out any dignity. And when you were totally spent, no resistance left, nothing but a pliant pile of goo in my hands, _then_ I'd fuck you."

Anna chortles and lets out another breathy sound. "You don't think I could handle it?”

“That’s the point, little red. To take you beyond what you _can_ handle. You feel how hard that makes me?” He pushes his hip upward a fraction, his erection digging into her back and he’s so hard he might as well have a hot steel rod in his pants. “I’m not going to do it, but I find the fantasy insanely hot.”

So does Anna. Her curiosity is definitely piqued. Is what he’s describing even possible?

“Have you done it before?” she asks, letting her legs fall open so he has better access to stroke her. He keeps his touches teasing and light, just enough to awaken that tickling feeling that makes her want more.

“No. It’s hard work getting a woman to come. Due to my job I haven’t had many relationships long enough to get to know my girlfriends’ bodies as well as I know yours by now. I think… I think maybe it’s a once in a lifetime kind of thing. Something to put on the bucket list.”

Anna opens her eyes and twists her head to look at his face. “What if I _wanted_ you to do it?”

Dmitri sucks in a breath through his teeth, head falling backward on the couch and he lets out a string of curses in Russian, eyes squeezed shut. When he bends his head towards her and looks at her again, his eyes are practically black from how expanded his pupils are. His cheeks have gone red and the sheer want he radiates, is more than she’s ever seen. It makes her pulse jump in anticipation. “Don’t even joke about it, woman,” he says, voice rough.

“I’m not,” Anna says and bites her lip. “I want to try it.”

“You’ve got to be sure. It’d be like skydiving. Once you step out of the airplane, there’s no changing your mind. I won’t stop, no matter how much you scream or beg me to,” Dmitri husks into her ear, causing goosebumps. He nibbles lightly on her earlobe, pinching her nipples―just on the right side of pain. She gasps and closes her eyes again.

“I’m sure. _Please_.”

Dmitri chuckles lowly, almost evilly. “In that case…” He pulls her shirt off. She helps him, lifting herself up enough for him to get it off without any fuzz. He captures her hands and uses the shirt to tie her wrists together with practised ease. She tugs at her makeshift restraint experimentally. She can’t get out of it. He sits up enough to pull her pants and panties down below her knees, not taking them off. Then he lifts her hands, locking them behind his neck when he lies back down. He hooks his legs over hers so she can’t move much but his hands are free to roam. “Remember, princess, you agreed to this…” he whispers in her ear, making her shiver in anticipation.

A while later she regrets it. His skillful hands knows her all too well. She’s long since lost count on how many times she’s come. Her pussy is continuously clenching, but so is the rest of her body. Her heart is hammering so hard and fast if feels like she’s going to die. Her stomach muscles aches, she can barely feel her arms and legs―they’re just numb except a faint feeling of pins and needles, fingers and toes cramping as they’re not getting enough oxygen. She can’t breathe. Air just won’t find it’s way down in anything but short desperate gasps. She can’t see properly. There are actual stars dancing in front of her eyes, vision grey in the corners, and blurred by tears. She fears she’s going to pass out. He doesn’t stop. No amount of begging or shouting makes him stop. This is pleasure turned pain. Just like he said, it’s still pleasure. It doesn’t hurt. But she can’t take it. It’s too much. _Too much_! She has no strength left to fight, there’s only enduring.

* * *

Sasha is so turned on he’s afraid he’s going to come in his pants like an inexperienced thirteen year old. He is sweating and panting harshly. Anna squirms, keens, throws her head back and forth. Her makeshift restraints tugs against his neck and tears runs freely down her cheeks. She is hyperventilating, not getting enough air as every orgasm hit and constricts her body as much as it is possible in his lock down. She is slick with sweat all over, her skin flushed. She tries to get away from his hand but when he removes it her hips canter, strains to find it again. It is awe striking at the same time as it makes him feel powerful, like a god. This is without question the best sexual experience of his life! 

Anna is perfectly laid out in front of one of the living room cameras. He can’t wait to watch the recording of it. The thought strikes him that there might be someone else watching. He is neutral to being watched in general. It neither turns him on or off. (Although he _does_ enjoy public sex, not so much for being watched, but for the lack of inhibition. Fucking then and there because you're horny, to hell with anyone who has a problem with it.) But right now it turns him on even more, thinking Mikey is watching. Without thinking it through he covers Anna's eyes with a hand under the pretense of securing her head, and stares right into the camera hidden in a painting on the wall. 

If he wasn't so turned on, as out of it as Anna, he wouldn't have done it. But now he runs his mouth in Russian, egging the unseen watcher on. "Вы смотрите в настоящее время, не так ли? Вам нравится то, что вы видите? Да? Вам нравится этот, бог Брат?"  
( _You’re watching now, aren’t you? You like what you see? Yeah? You like this_ , Бог брат?)

He hisses between his teeth, fighting to withhold his orgasm. He doesn’t want to come yet. Anna is losing strength. It's no longer possible to discern individual orgasms. Her pussy is clenching continuously, producing so much slick one could think she's peed herself. It’s fucking _glorious_. 

"Я получаю творческий на мою работу, так же, как вы хотели, чтобы я. Этот вид пыток вплоть мой переулок. Наслаждайся представлением. Бьюсь об заклад, вы любите это. Вы смотрите сейчас и выйти на это? Вы, не так ли? Я угощаю. Просто для нас, Бог Брат. Просто для нас."  
( _I’m getting creative at my work, just like you wanted me to. This kind of torture is right up my alley. Enjoy the show. I bet you love this. You’re watching now and getting off at this? You are, aren’t you? My treat. Just for us,_ Бог брат. _Just for us._ )

The thought that Mikey is watching makes it so much hotter for some reason. Now Anna is nothing but a limp body, only able to try to get oxygen down to her lungs and barely succeeding. He maneuvers her so she's lying on her stomach over the side of the couch, then he finally pulls his cock out of his pants and enters her in one thrust. He has to bite his lip hard enough to draw blood not to come then and there. Her pussy is clenching and throbbing with life of its own. She’s so hot and _tight_ despite being so wet. Her inner muscles are working overtime.

As soon as he gets himself under control he fucks her hard and fast. He climaxes within a minute, hard enough to almost see stars. Afterwards he slumps over her, making sure to support his weight and not crush her. "That. Was. Incredible," he pants and kisses her wherever he can reach. She lets out an out of breath giggle-sob. "You. Are. Incredible. _Fuck._ "

He struggles to get off her. "Fuck, Anna. I love you so much," he says and kisses her on the shoulders and neck. Right at this moment it’s almost true. Almost. He’s caught in a sexual high. The right kind of high magnifies all good emotions―ܸܸaffection included. He moves her so she's more comfortable and will be able to breathe easier and unties her hands. "You’re _amazing_. Wait here." He kisses her again and then goes to the kitchen. He is shaking slightly, feeling euphoric. He gets juice and dark chocolate, then he fetches a soft sweater and sweatpants. He goes back to the living room and helps Anna sit up and drink. He dresses her in the soft clothes and makes her nibble on the chocolate, all the while telling her how good and amazing she is, how well she did, and how proud he is of her.

Anna can't speak yet. The only sounds she's able to make is weak giggles and half-sobs, the occasional tear rolling down her cheeks. She’s trembling and looks absolutely dazed. Sasha gathers her up in his arms, puts the chocolate on her stomach, takes the remaining juice in his hand and carries her upstairs to the bedroom. He has to fumble a bit to put the juice down so he can lay Anna on the bed. He puts her down and tucks her in. He strokes her hair lovingly and helps her drink some more, she has regained enough strength to drink greedily. He wonders if Mikey feels this overwhelming affection for Sam too after the young man has given him all he has to give. If so, it must leave him broken every time he leaves the boy. Sasha would be absolutely shattered if he wasn't allowed to stay and help Anna put herself together again. He can’t remember the last time he felt this kind of tender affection for anyone that wasn't an infant. 

Sam, while drugged under Sasha’s interrogation, had confessed that if Mikey just would remove the threat to Sam's loved ones and stay and take care of him afterwards, Sam would come to him willingly, even eagerly (Although it _had_ taken Mikey years to bend the boy that out of shape). It wasn't the torture in itself as much as the rejection in his most vulnerable state that had driven Sam suicidal.

Not that what Sasha had done to Anna was anything like what Mikey did to Sam. The only similarities was the breaking of inner walls. Anna had known what to expect (in theory) and consented. _Asked_ for it. She had been subjected to pleasure, not pain. It had been done to her by someone she trusted, who, as far as she knew, had her best interest at heart. He massages her wrists and hands to get the blood flowing in them again.

"Oh my god," Anna breathes at last, blinking wide eyed up at the ceiling.

“Yeah?”

“ _Holy shit_.”

“Good or bad?”

“Overwhelming. Great.” She turns her head to look at him, smiling. “That was… that was…”

He chuckles and places a kiss on her forehead. “Personally, it was without competition the best sex I’ve had in my life. How do you feel?”

“Like I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. My whole body is buzzing and I’m totally beat. Look.” She holds up her hand to show the tremors. “At one point I swear it felt like I was going to die. Literally.” Her voice is hoarse from screaming and she has to clear her throat repeatedly to speak.

_You might have, little girl. With all that poison weakening your body, you just might have._

It’s the truth. Not only with the poison, but if she’d had an unknown heart condition, or some other hidden handicap or disease to weaken her, it might have caused her heart to give out. Caused an asthma attack, or any number of unforeseen complications. But then again, a living body is a thing of wonder, so much stronger than you’d think―able to survive the most gruesome injuries.

“If I was going to die, at least I’d have died happy,” she continues and dries her tears.

“Not regretting saying yes to this?”

“No. Like you said―bucket list experience. I mean, there was some time there where I just wanted to get away, you know? Like, it was just, _too_ much. Like you said it would be. It didn’t hurt exactly. But. I dunno. Now though, I feel, high?”

“Mmm. Your own body has produced a shitload of chemicals that causes pleasure and numbs pain. You _are_ high, sweetheart.”

“I just don’t get why I feel like crying my eyes out…”

“Told you that too. I stripped you of all dignity and control, laid you bare and broke down your walls. You have no defense up. You’re emotionally raw and vulnerable.” If there had been information to be gathered from her, now would have been the time. But there’s nothing he wants to know.

Anna nibbles some chocolate and mulls it over. She’s sluggish in her movements. Sasha lies beside her and strokes her hair continuously. “It’s embarrassing,” she says after a while.

“Not at all. It’s natural. Don’t be ashamed. I love you even more for trusting me to see you this open.”

They lay awake for a while longer, talking it over (doing a debriefing as he would call it). He wants to make sure Anna’s really okay with what happened. He gets her to drink and eat some more. She falls asleep afterwards in pure exhaustion, dead to the world. He lies watching her for a while before going downstairs again, shutting off the TV. He sits in the couch just thinking for a while, throws a glance at the camera and then decides he can’t wait to watch the replay. The whole thing wasn’t planned from his side―just an idea that popped into his head while he was trying not to get bored out of his head by the crappy movie. He almost hadn’t said anything to Anna because he’d found the rapey element distasteful. He’s glad she insisted. Fuck, it’d been hot! Who knew he’d feel so fucking almighty? Is that what Mikey and others like him feel when they take women by force? ( _That_ still grossed him out, but if this is the high others get from it, he gets why they do it.)

He goes out to his car and grabs his laptop from the trunk. He sits in the driver’s seat, logs onto the network, finds the living room camera feed and rewinds it. He plugs in a set of earplugs, only keeping one in his ear and hits play.

His hand still smells of Anna’s pussy juice and he keeps stroking the underside of his nose, inhaling, while he watches. Watching Anna unravel in his hands is amongst the hottest things he’s ever seen and he’s getting hard again, absentmindedly stroking himself outside of his pants. He’d been as out of control as Anna in his high, swept up in her, carried away.

But then comes the part where he’s making eye contact with the camera, covering Anna’s eyes to hide from her what he was doing. From this angle it seems like she’s just an unimportant extra on set for how intensely he himself is honing in on the camera. He is making direct eye contact with his watcher―currently himself. Then he starts running his mouth in Russian and Sasha has to slam the enter-button to pause. “ _Fuck_!”

 _What the hell were you thinking, Sash?! Dirty talking a fucking_ Бог Брат _?_

Sasha’s pulse is racing. He feels unsettled and uncomfortable.

_Thinking didn’t have much to do with it._

_That makes it fucking worse!_

He rewinds a bit and watches that particular part again. And again. And again. 

That he didn’t really think it over is much worse than if he’d planned it. The only time he’d really let go of control with Anna and just _been_ , no inhibitions, no alcohol, no nothing―just him. The most―for him―intimate moment he’d had with Anna. And what did he do? He sought out Mikey and shared the moment. “ _Just for us,_ Бог Брат. _Just for us._ ” The fuck did he do that for? He wasn’t just dirty talking some unknown watcher, or himself for later. No. Specifically Michael.

“FUCK!”

_What does that even mean?_

_It means I’ve stayed on one place too fucking long and have to get the hell out of here._

_Calm the fuck down, Sash. Mikey has no way of knowing how personal that moment was for you. He might not think it was. He likes sex as a group activity. He’ll just think you paid him homage or something._

_Except I sounded far from deferring. I sounded like I was directing myself to an equal, a partner. I said “us” when I should have said “you”._

The gentle affection he’d felt for Anna is gone and he’s crawling with unease. Unconsciously he’d gripped his pendant and lipped at it while the other hand had sought out his jar of goodies, flipping the lid open and close over and over again. He wonders how many other Croatoans had gotten too close. Probably not that many. Croatoans and Божја браћа didn’t “hang out” like he and Mikey did. (The exception was of course those who taught at The Heart, but usually they did one round, possibly two, and the “respite” only lasted while they were there. He’s not sure why he’s an exception.) They did not partner up for jobs. This situation was unique in so many ways. The Божја браћа surrounded themselves with a host of Croatoans, thus the Croatoans could hang out with each other. Luci didn’t want shit to do with _Porodica_ business so Mikey honoured that (mostly). Hadn’t Sasha himself made the request for transfer no Croatoans would have been here.

Once again he’s feeling his age, and his knee is aching worse than usual. The lonely hollow left by Castiel is growing within. He blames Anna. It’s convenient.

* * *

Thankfully, Mikey doesn’t comment on it when they meet again. Sasha feels him staring. More than usual he thinks but that can just be his imagination. Sasha catches him looking ever so often, running his tongue over his teeth under closed lips which means the gears are ticking away behind that skull of his. Apart from that Sasha finds no consequences to his behaviour. Yet the unease won’t go away.

* * *


	39. Slices of Life - Anna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anna and Dmitri are now in an established relationship. There are sides to him Anna has trouble with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:**  
>  \- emotional manipulation  
> \- Undermining self-worth.  
> \- Gaining control of the finances as well as whom she interacts with.  
> \- Gaslighting  
> \- Mental and emotional manipulation
> 
>  **Notes:**  
>  Alright folks, here's where you have to get ready to hate Sasha again because now we're up for a series of short Anna POV.
> 
> A word about abusive relationships. No matter how strong you are, you can get caught up in a destructive relationship. No matter if the abuse is emotional, mental, or physical it never starts out as abusive. And as the darker side of the person you're with slowly starts to reveal itself, the good sides may be so many that a little drama may seem worth the hazzle. So please, don't think Anna is dumb or weak for falling for it. She's not. 
> 
> Now Sasha is doing some serious manipulation and has a number of resources for doing them, but in reality you don't need hidden cams, staged rapes, poison, or any other of those things. The biggest weapon is Sasha himself. Words and deeds is all.

* * *

**2011**

* * *

Month unknown - Jealousy 

When they were out together Dmitri had a knack for seeing when other guys were checking her out and he’d bring that to her attention. “They’re envious of me, little red. I’m the only one who get to touch you and have you by my side. No one else, right?”

“Of course not, Dimi. Only you. I’m all yours.” This made him fiercely satisfied. He’d practically radiate smug pride when someone was checking her out. She loved the feeling of being that treasured. In return she’d cling to him, make a show of who she belonged to. She’d often tell him that she was his. It was always rewarded one way or another.

The backside was jealousy. He was jealous. If she was too friendly towards another guy, smiled too brightly, talked too long with a guy… Dmitri got angry. Not in the shouting and name calling way, but in the cold, quiet way. He would hardly speak to or look at her, practically oozing displeasure. It was a mistake calling him out on it. 

" _Now what_?" Anna stares at Dmitri, annoyed. He hasn't looked at her for the last fifteen minutes, just kept his gaze on the traffic and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel while he drove. The chill he emitted was palpable and she wasn't a hundred percent sure of why he was angry. He’d just _switched_ after they had stopped for gas. 

"Nothing."

Anna rolls her eyes. “It's something. You’re being a piss baby."

The muscles by his jaws tense. "Is it the age difference? Is that it? You think I'm too old for you?" They turn down the street towards her house.

Anna is completely blindsided. "What? _No_! Of course not! Why the hell would you think that?"

"Because you were flirting with that guy right in front of my nose. What am I? Some annoying tag along you keep around until you find someone you _really_ want?" He parks the car on her driveway and glares accusingly at her.

"What guy?"

"The cashier at the gas station."

Anna gets pissed off. They get out of the car. "Oh my god, Dmitri! I wasn't flirting! If you think that you need to have your eyes checked."

Dmitri throws his hands up. "You know what? I don't need this shit. You try to peddle that crap on someone else, I deserve better." He turns around, gets back into the car, slams the door and drives off. Just like that. Giving her no chance to argue the false accusation or vent her own anger. She is furious when she gets inside. She had just been paying for snacks and fuel (with Dmitri’s card), making ordinary smalltalk. It’s absurd!

But then… nothing. Dmitri doesn’t answer his phone, sends no texts, _nothing_. The anger fades, changes into worry. Maybe she had come across as flirty without intending to? God knows she hadn’t been flirting on purpose anyway. But what if her misstep, unintentional as it was, made her lose Dmitri? What if he never came back? 

Hours seems to tick by so slowly without him checking in on her, calling, sending sweet texts. She has no one to talk to anymore. She goes over what happened at the gas station over and over, trying to find what he might have interpreted as flirting. It takes two days before she breaks, now convinced he'd been right. Crying, she leaves him a voicemail, saying she’s sorry over and over, telling him she misses him, loves him, _needs_ him. She feels pathetic for doing so but the thought of not having him in her life makes it hard to breathe.

The next day he shows up at the deli she currently works part time at, bringing a huge bouquet of roses, looking happy to see her and sad at the same time. He says he misses her, loves her and that he forgives her. 

He never says he’s sorry.

* * *

* * *

**2011**

* * *

Month unknown - Finances

Dmitri is packing his bag. Anna stands in the doorway watching, arms crossed over her chest. She hates when he goes away. She misses him like crazy when he does and feels completely lonely. “Do you _have_ to go?” she asks, knowing the answer.

“You know that already, Anna. Besides, it’s just for four days.” He suddenly stops what he’s doing and turns to look at her. “You should come with.”

“What? To your work?”

“I’m going to Beverly Hills. You’d have to be alone during the days, but you could go shopping, or do auditions or whatever. Then in the evening we’ll dine at nice restaurants, take strolls and see if we can spot any Hollywood stars, go to a spa. My job has put me up in a real classy hotel. Won’t be that hard to upgrade to a double bed. It’ll be nice. Romantic. I want you to come.”

It’s the first time he’s asked her to come along and she’d really like to say yes. Her stomach does a little flip flop at the thought of going to Beverly Hills. “I’d love to, but I can’t. I’ve gotta work tomorrow.”

He looks at her for a beat or two, face unreadable. Then he makes a sturgeon face, shrugs a shoulder, and walks to her dresser. He grabs her phone. Before she can even ask what he’s doing he makes a call. “Hi, this is Dmitri Krushnic, Anna Collins boyfriend. Yes, yes. We met before, that’s right. ….I’m calling to say that Anna’s very sick and won’t be able to come to work, probably not for the whole week… No, it’s some stomach bug. She’s running a high fever and puking her guts up, nothing you’d want in your deli, I can promise you that.” He chuckles at whatever her boss (she assumes) is saying. “Agreed. But don’t worry. I’ll take care of her…. Mhm.... yeah, you too. Good bye.” Dmitri hangs up and looks at her again. “There. Problem solved.”

She stares at him in shock. “Oh, my god, Dimi! You can’t just call me in sick like that,” she says, utterly scandalized.

He smirks. “I just did.”

“ _Dimi_! I need that job! What if I get fired? I’ve got bills to pay.”

He walks up to her with a soft smile and circles her with his arms. “Don’t worry about bills. I work enough for the both of us, I’ll pay them. _My_ woman is far too good to work at at a shitty deli. You’re an actress, a star. You should be going to auditions and hunt down jobs that are fitting for you, not wasting your time making sandwiches.” He’s looking down at her like she’s the most precious thing in the world.

“I like my job…” Anna’s gut twists uncomfortably. She feels in two minds about what he’s saying. There’s a feeling of not being good enough for him at the same time as him seeing her as a star, worthy of so much better thrills her.

Dmitri scoffs. “It’s a shit job. Besides, I don’t like how your boss looks at you.” He cups her cheeks and kisses the tip of her nose. “You’re a star. You’re strong and beautiful. The world should worship you as I do. You should go out there and show them how fantastic you are. I’ll take care of you until you get your break, don’t worry about it.” He smiles and hugs her closer.

“What if I never do? Getting acting gigs isn’t easy.”

“You will. It might take some time, but you will. I promise.” He kisses her again, all warm and big and safe. She lets herself melt into it, ignoring that knot in her stomach that tells her that he doesn't see her as worthy of him. “Now pack your bag, the plane leaves in two hours,” he says when they break their kiss.

“Okay…”

* * *

The trip is overwhelming and absolutely great despite Dmitri being gone most of the daytime. She is so happy she came along. She really feels like a princess. 

She quits her job.

* * *

* * *

**2011**

* * *

Month unknown - Sexlife

There’s a huge advantage to dating an older man, Anna thinks. Or, at least, she believes it’s an age thing.

First of all, foreplay. It’s a thing. It’s _the_ thing. Once they get to actual fucking none of them usually last very long nowadays. Anna has this chronic fatigue she can’t seem to shake which makes it hard for her to ride him or strain herself very much, but he adapted―not averse to being the one doing the hardest work. He had no shame when it came to sex so it made it easier for her to relax and do stuff she felt embarrassed about.

Foreplay took a whole new meaning than it had before. Jake had been eager, but repetitive, and once he got to the part where he was allowed to come into her he forgot about all else. Dmitri is nothing like that. He’s a very attentive lover and took pleasure out of finding every part of her that was sensitive to touch.

“Tell me if you don’t like something. I won’t take offense. I want it to be good for you but I’m not a mindreader,” he’d say. He might as well be for how much attention he paid to her reactions. Orgasms―something she once didn’t really considered being something you got when having sex with someone else―became the norm. Usually she’d have two or three every time. Dmitri was good with his hands and it didn’t take him all that long to figure out what made her tick. 

He didn’t seem to have any particular inhibitions to speak of even if their love life was pretty vanilla. If she made a suggestion or mentioned something she was curious about he was up for it. Foreplay for Dmitri was as much the build up during the day as it was kissing and touching. Like buying her fancy lingerie and asking her to wear it while they were out doing something. He’d tell her how he was thinking about it, about how it turned him on knowing she had that lacy satin (or whatever) rubbing against her pussy and no one else knew. How he couldn’t wait to get her home so he could enjoy the full view, drag his tongue against her through the fabric, pull it aside and enter her. By the time they actually got home she was so turned on and wet she wanted to just bend over on the nearest flat surface and have him fuck the living shit out of her. Sometimes he did. Sometimes he took his time, stripping off her garments one at a time and savouring whatever was revealed before moving on to the next. 

He made her feel treasured, sexy, and beautiful. And he had a thing for accessories. She wore new rings? He’d insist she’d use the hand that wore them when she stroked his dick, watching each stroke hungrily. She had sexy underwear on? They wouldn’t come off. Panties would simply be pulled to the side to give him access, bras folded down enough for him to suck on her nipples. New necklace? High heeled shoes? Apron? Knitted scarf, beanie, and mittens? Anything really. He made her feel hot and wanted in it. It was fun to choose what to wear, trying to anticipate what he’d do with whatever outfit she chose.

As much as he could dirty talk her in public to tease her, he was quiet in bed. The exception was when he was extremely aroused, nearing his orgasm. Then he would sometimes run his mouth in Russian. To get him to that point wasn’t all that easy. She had figured out that he liked to watch. If they fucked or made love in front of a mirror chances were twice as great that he’d get there.

In the beginning he didn’t ask her to do anything special, but as they got to know each other better sexually he started making requests. One thing he asked for was to be allowed to watch her masturbate. She found the whole idea mortifying. He kept bringing it up though.

“You’re an actress. You can’t be _that_ shy about performing for an audience? It’s just me. I’d think it was the hottest thing ever. Please, little red…”

Reluctantly, she had agreed. It had been worth it. He had sat on a chair watching her lie on the bed while she masturbated. As mortifying as she had found it at first, he’d been so visibly turned on, mumbling encouragement to her, that she had really enjoyed it. Nowadays she could initiate such a show just to tease him. She really liked how he looked to be between elation and suffering when she did. 

She wishes he would make more requests. She often got the feeling that he held back on his own taste and wants in favour of hers. She felt a bit like sex was the only way she had of giving back to him for all he did for her. She really wanted to be worth the trouble. She was head over heels for him.

* * *

* * *

**2011**

* * *

Month unknown - Jealousy 2

“Oh my god. You’re so vain,” Anna giggles.

“Hey. Nothing wrong with wanting to look good. Now stop grinning at me and tell me which one of these suits me best.” Dmitri held up the two shirts one after another against his chest. Dmitri is not averse to clothes shopping like most men are said to be. It was more like shopping with a friend really. He chooses clothes for Anna as well as himself and seem to take great joy in watching her model whatever she tries on, letting her know if he likes it (or dislike it). He’s got expensive taste for her and buys the clothes if they fit her well without even looking at the price tag. He has good taste in clothes and for himself he leans towards the timeless practical look, but if you stroke his ego the right way he'll buy and wear stuff he doesn’t like. Which was what she intended to make him do right now. 

"The heathered one. It makes your eyes pop. And it'll look great with these," she says and holds out a pair of jeans to him, hoping that he wouldn't react to them as he did to skinny jeans. (Sadly, you couldn’t make him wear skinny jeans if your life depended on it.)

He puts away one of the shirts, keeping the heathered one, and frowns at the jeans she's holding out to him. "If I wanted ripped pants I'd climb a barbed wire fence, Anna."

"They'll look great on you, Dmitri. Try them on."

"Why would I want to look like I can't afford whole clothes? I'd look like a bum."

" _Come on_ , just try them. For me? Please? You don't have to buy them. I just want to see you wear them. You'll look _so_ hot," she begs and looks at him pleadingly. 

"Fine." He takes the jeans from her with a long suffering sigh, muttering something about it being the 80's all over again, but makes his way to the changing booth anyway. 

She giggles, follows him and waits outside. He comes out wearing the greyish purple heathered shirt and the ripped jeans. He looks sceptical but Anna whistles her appreciation. "You look _really_ good in that!" She gives him a leering once over, practically burning the clothes off him, and gestures for him to twirl. She can see his face shift from sceptical to neutrally pleased by her reaction before he obliges her. The jeans does a great job at showing off his ass. " _Hubba hubba_ ," she says. "Just look at dat ass!"

He looks over his shoulder at her, lips quirked in a tiny smile. "They’re more holes than jeans. I look ridiculous," he says but there's no conviction in his voice and she knows she's got him. (And he is exaggerating. They’re not _that_ ripped.) 

_Now for the final push…_

Anna turns to two women in their thirties standing nearby. "Excuse me. Could you help us? We need a second opinion. He thinks he looks like a bum in those jeans and I think he looks hotter than hell. What do you think?"

The women look at Dmitri who does another slow turn to give them the full view then looks at them with an eyebrow raised in question. "I'm with her," one of them tells him and points to Anna. "They suit you," the other one say with a smile and a glint in her eyes Anna doesn’t like. 

"Yeah?" Dmitri says with a shy (bullshit. _Flirty_ ) lopsided smile and looks at the woman from under bangs he doesn’t have. 

"Yes. They accentuate your... assets," the woman says meaningfully, letting her eyes roam freely and tilting her hips in a seductive manner. Dmitri holds her gaze a bit too long for Anna's comfort. There’s a glint in his eyes that Anna has come to associate with sex. She is beginning to regret asking the women for backup, feeling jealousy welling up inside. She had been sure they would back her up but had not anticipated any of them would flirt with him right in front of her.

"Fair enough," Dmitri answers, then reaches out for Anna and tugs her in, wrapping his arms around her. "If my girlfriend likes them, I'll take them." He puts a slight empathise on 'girlfriend', enough to clarify that he’s taken. "Thanks."

Anna grabs him by the hair and pulls him down for a kiss. He closes his eyes while she glares sideways at the women until they go away, the flirty one with a wry twist to her lips.

 _Bitch_.

“Why’d you have to flirt with her?” she asks when they break the kiss. 

He looks bemusedly at her. "I wasn't flirting. What are you talking about?"

"I _saw_ you. You two were flirting."

"Anna, I was just being _friendly_. Why would I flirt with anyone when I got you? Don’t be so damned paranoid." He frowns annoyedly down at her and goes on talking before she has a chance to respond. "Besides, it was _you_ who started talking with them. I had nothing to do with that. I don't know what you think you saw. But I don't like that you use that vivid imagination of yours to pin stuff on me that I didn't do."

Anna draws breath to respond but he doesn’t let her. "No. Enough of this nonsense. I don't want to hear it. You like these jeans or not?"

She lets it go. Her gut says he _was_ flirting, but then he had made it clear he was taken. Maybe he just liked making others jealous? Maybe he was just being friendly and she was over sensitive? But what would he have done if she wasn’t there? He was gone a lot. What was he doing when he was away for days at a time for work? She pushes the thought out of mind. Maybe she was just as paranoid as he told her.

* * *

* * *

**2011**

* * *

Month unknown - Going mad...

"Have you seen my phone?"

"Beside the coffee maker."

"Why did you put it there?"

Dmitri scowls at her from the couch where he's sitting, reading the local newspaper while watching some TV show in the background. "I didn't put it there. _You_ did."

"No I didn't. I put it on my bedroom dresser," Anna says, frustrated. 

"I saw you putting it by the coffee maker, Anna. I haven't touched your phone. I've sat here since I got here," he says with more than a little annoyance. 

And yeah. He has. As far as she knows. But she remembers putting the phone in the bedroom and she has no memory of going into the kitchen. _At all_. With a knot in her stomach she stomps off into the kitchen. She stops dead in the doorway and stare at the offending phone lying beside the coffee machine. 

" _Did you find it, Princess?_ " Dmitri calls from the living room. 

Anna's heart is beating hard. She’s scared. It’s happening more and more often that she does things she can't remember doing. As much as she wants to blame Dmitri for it―and she wants to. The alternative is that she's going mad―she can't do that because it happens even when he isn't around. Like the other day. She was on the phone with him when she came home, dropped the keys on the counter by the door (she's sure she did, dammit!), went into the kitchen, drank some juice, went upstairs, hung up and went to the toilet. When she came back down she couldn't find the keys. She searched everywhere and found them in the upstairs bathroom. And that's just one of many incidents. She can no longer trust her own memory and it scares the living shit out of her. 

_Maybe I have a ghost in the house?_

_Ugh. Don't be stupid. There are no ghosts. There must be a perfectly rational explanation for why this keeps happening._

"Yes I did," she calls back. 

"Good. Can you get me a beer while you're in there?"

_Yes there is. You’re going mad. That’s the only rational explanation there is._

"Sure."

Anxious worms crawls in her stomach. There’s just this feeling that something is really wrong. She feels the onset of a headache. She’s brought this up with Dmitri once. He had comforted her and told her that it’s only stress. Emotional stress can mess with the body and brain in all manner of ways.

_Calm down, Anna. Stress. That's all it is. It'll go away if you can just calm down._

_How the hell am I supposed to calm down when I'm going mad?!_

She puts her phone in her pocket and takes a painkiller to stave off the headache before it gains force. She swallows it down with some juice and opens a beer for Dmitri. The headaches scares her too. They’d gotten worse. She ate a lot of painkillers and she worries about that. She didn't want to become addicted or anything. But when she didn't take them the headache could become blinding and totally incapacitating. One time she had even passed out. She hadn't told Dmitri that. 

_Lucky for me that he buys them. I'd never afford to pay for all of them._

They were effective. It was a kind that you needed a prescription to buy. She asked how he got them once. He smiled sadly at her, took her hand and put it under his shirt, guided her fingers over the raised ridges of some of his scars and raised an eyebrow at her. He never talks about his past and rarely about his work so she had never even considered that he could be in pain too before that and she’s is ashamed of that. It _really_ doesn't show. He moves freely, gracefully even. He's relaxed and never shirk hard work. She has woken up sometimes to find him gone from bed and found him in the living room, going through a workout routine. He does some kind of martial arts but any of those moves he stops doing when he notices her watching (which he does almost instantly. He’s next to impossible to sneak up on). Maybe it's a good thing he doesn't want her to see him when he does martial art because the glimpses she's caught of his face when he did...

Anna suppresses a shudder. Dmitri―kind, generous, sweet. All smiles that crinkles the skin around his eyes and makes his eyes twinkle boyishly... He had looked _totally_ different. Hard, cold, _dangerous_. Then he'd notice her and his features smoothed out and he'd switch to more common moves. Like pushups for an instance. He was such a show off. He’d roll straight from situps to handstand and do pushups like that like it was nothing and he'd soak in her admiration like a sponge. She didn't try to hide how impressed she was because he'd radiate pride (that _he_ tried to hide) and spoil her rotten anytime he did something that made her look at him with awe. It was almost impossible to think that Dmitri perhaps suffers from chronic pain himself when you watched him. Even despite his scars. 

Maybe a large part of what was happening to her _was_ stress, because she felt calmer when he was around and the painkillers worked better when he was with her. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong with her though. 

_Thinking like that will just make me even more stressed and it'll **never** go away. _

She pours an extra glass of juice and takes it, along with the beer, to the living room. Dmitri looks up at her and smiles when she hands him the beer. “Thanks, beautiful.”

“You’re welcome. Um… are you sure you didn’t move my phone?”

Dmitri’s smile fall from his face. “Yes I’m sure. Dammit, Anna. I’m tired of you accusing me of things like that all the time.”

“I don’t accuse you all the ti―”

“Yes you do, and I’m sick of it. I deserve better. Like last week and that script. If you’re too scatterbrained to keep track of your own stuff? _Fine_. I’ll help you keep tabs. But lay off trying to pin it on me or I might as well walk out of here right now. Then you’ll see how nasty you’re being with these false allegations.” 

Guilt and fear that Dmitri will leave her tears at Anna. She feels like crying, powerless to stop whatever is going on with her and risking chasing away the only one who’s stood by her since all this began because of it. “I’m sorry, Dmitri. I didn’t mean to. Please don’t go. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

It must have shown on her face how close to tears she is because the angry annoyance on Dmitri’s face is replaced by a soft expression. “Ey, ey, come here.” He takes the glass from her hand and puts it on the living room table before tugging her down in his lap. “It’s alright. Don’t worry, little one. I love you. I just want to take care of you. You’re my princess, remember?” he says, strokes her hair and kisses her forehead. She nods, not trusting her voice to come out stable, and curls up against his broad chest. “Just don’t go throwing crap like that at me again, okay? I don’t like it.”

“I won’t,” she promises.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a little change and put all of these in one chapter. Hope you don't mind.


	40. And in his Eyes - Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> November 20th Sasha comes home to find something is very very wrong.
> 
> This chapter is what happens directly after Mikey and Luci has their fight about Sam as can be read in [chapter 64: Dark Horse in Volatile Chemistry](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2280492/chapters/7542356)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings for this chapter:**  
>  \- Murder, torture  
> \- MAJOR Blood kink  
> \- Dubious consent (if your rigid in your interpretation it can be classified as Non-Con)  
> \- Insanity/Madness  
> \- general fucked upness.
> 
> I listened to [Toy Soldiers by Martika](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LvdLovAaYzM) (not the Eminem version, okay?) on repeat for days while writing this as the song plays on repeat in the scene too. I would strongly recommend you to listen to the song at least once to set the mood. For those of you not up to listening to the song the lyrics can be found [here](http://www.metrolyrics.com/toy-soldiers-lyrics-martika.html).

* * *

**2011**

* * *

November 20th

The front door is open when Sasha comes home. Sasha knows something is wrong the moment he sees it. Once again the basement door is open too. There’s music coming from downstairs. Toy Soldiers by Martika is playing on loud volume. Strongly suspecting it’s Michael, he still does a check of the rest of the house with his gun drawn. It’s clear, but the feeling of something being wrong gets stronger for every second passing. The scent of blood hits him as soon as he starts to descend the stairs. He take each step slowly, silently, listening for something, anything, other than the music, gun ready in his hand. His heart is beating fast now, senses sharp. He spots Michael. He is standing by the desk with his back to the stairs, an assortment of knives laid out before him and his hand is hovering back and forth between two of them. He is shirtless, barefoot, only wearing a pair of black boot cut jeans, hair a disarray. He is covered with bruises, one of which is swollen and almost black, curving up from under his arm. _Broken rib._

Sasha’s inner alarm system is blaring red alert now. A quick survey of the rest of the basement reveals the pull out couch has been turned into it’s bed-state and on the far side of the room―an area which has been kept cleared for possible storage purposes―a tarpaulin has been laid out. On it a naked woman lies on her back. Her hands have been bound behind her back and her legs have been bound―scratch that―taped together with duct tape. She is crying weakly and can’t be heard above the music. _She_ is the source of the metallic scent of blood. She has so many shallow cuts she is practically covered in blood. Drenched in it, surrounded by a puddle of it. It’s a wonder she is still alive. Not for very much longer though.

He takes note of all this in two seconds from his place halfway down the stairs, by then his mind is screaming at him. “ _ **GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!**_ ” He turns around and takes one step up the stairs.

”Stay.” Michael’s command is a whipcrack, clear over the music.

_Fuck!_ Sasha freezes in his track. His heart is working overtime and he feels a surge of fear. His gut feeling had warned him. _I shouldn’t have gone down here._ It’s too late now. It isn’t the first time he has been present during one of Michael’s ‘play session’ murders. That’s not what scares him. It’s the blaring alarms in his head that something is _off_.

Quickly he considers his options. If he runs he’ll be hunted. Disobedience when Michael is in this state will alienate him completely so even if Michael didn’t hunt him himself he’d be marked as a croat gone rogue with all that entailed. It isn’t an option. He turns around and walks downstairs warily. Michael still has his back to him. Sasha stops two strides away from him, arms limp at his sides, and waits.

”Please go ahead and take your jacket off. Make yourself comfortable, you’re not going anywhere anytime soon.” Michael’s voice is flat and businesslike. He chooses a small blade, a scalpel, and holds it up for inspection. Sasha still can’t see his face but the side of his neck is caked with blood. It looks like his ear lobe has been partly ripped off. The backside of his hands are swollen and bruised, the skin has split over some of his knuckles. He has slightly uneven bruising around his neck, like he’s been hanged. No rope burns though. _Chain perhaps?_ One thing is certain and that’s that Michael has been in a life and death kind of fight. And hardly with the woman on the tarp.

Michael turns around to face Sasha. He has been _crying_ , tear tracks visible on his face and red eyes. His chest is as badly bruised as his back. His lower lip is split, he has a nick in an eyebrow and a swollen cheekbone. He is covered in blood most likely belonging to the woman. In his eyes― _madness_. It’s a shine, an intensity, that gives it away. Little boy Mikey is locked down and this is the broken part of him staring at Sasha. A mad dog. What do you do with mad dogs? _You shoot them._ Sasha’s hand twitch around his gun handle before he can stop himself. He sees Michael see the movement. A flick of the eye and then back to meet Sasha’s gaze, not giving away any thoughts. Castiel was a mad dog too. Sasha couldn’t pull the trigger on him. The round bullet scar on Michael’s chest is staring at Sasha accusingly. He can’t pull the trigger on Michael either. Sasha removes his jacket with slow deliberate movements and throws it on one of the office chairs, eyes locked with Michael during the whole process. Then he waits, arms still limp at his sides with the gun loosely in hand. Certain that this is how he’ll die. He’s been balancing on a knife’s edge with Michael and fallen over. Now he’ll pay the price for getting too close. 

Michael doesn’t say anything at first. He raises the hand holding the scalpel, looks down on it, turning it over and over, thinking. “He always knows,” he says at last. 

Sasha has no idea what he is talking about. He ignores the statement. “That looks painful. I can give you something for that, Michael.”

The words are barely out of his mouth before he is slammed against the wall, scalpel against his neck without breaking skin and a hand fisting his shirt. Instinct had him raise his gun to Michael’s chest, quick thinking prevents him from pulling the trigger. “If I want something to dull the pain, I will ask for it. And you will refer to me as _Sir._ We’re not friends, _croat,_ ” Michael states calmly. The mad gleam in his eyes belies the calm. Upon the last sentence his eyes dart around like he is searching for hidden watchers. _Paranoia_. Doug does the same thing when he meets with Sasha in person. Eyes darting around as if he's expecting unseen watchers or listeners.

Despite fear, adrenaline and pulse spiking, Sasha’s voice is unwavering, his face calm, when he speaks. “What does it matter what I call you, Mikey? You and I both know that I won’t make it out of this basement alive without committing treason.” Actually, he doesn’t know that. He _thinks_ that. But maybe there’s a chance to somehow deflect that particular faith.

A muscle twitches by Michael’s eye. He deliberately looks down on the barrel of Sasha’s gun, resting against his heart. “What’s stopping you, Aleksandr? Huh?”

”I serve all the Божја браћа because it’s my job. For some of you I do my job well. For some I just do my job. Some of you I wouldn’t mind teaching the lesson that ‘friendly fire, _isn’t_ ’. Then some of you…” Sasha raises his gun to stroke Michael’s cheek with the barrel. “...I serve with my heart and will continue to do so even when the _Porodica_ falls apart.” _I won’t grant this suicide wish of yours,_ he doesn’t say.

Sasha feels oddly okay with the thought of Michael being the one to finally do him in. He has no wish to die, but he’d rather it be someone he’d come to care deeply for than a stray bullet in some bullshit mission. He knew the moment Michael took a bullet to save his life that a line had been crossed that shouldn’t have been crossed. By then he should have finished off the Anna gig and asked to be transferred as far away as possible, preferably at a post where he didn’t have to work in near vicinity of any of the Божја браћа. But he hadn’t. Maybe it was because he was pushing fifty in a game where most didn’t live to see thirty, maybe he was getting soft because of it. Maybe it was because he missed the intimacy he and Castiel had shared and his and Michael’s relationship was close to that despite how unlike they were. Maybe he had just grown stupid with age. It didn’t matter. _Death comes to all of us sooner or later._

Michael looks up. “If I die, will you protect―”

Sasha interrupts him by tapping the side of the barrel against Michael’s temple lightly and frowning in annoyance. “I’m not some Samwise Gamgee. My loyalty isn’t unquestioning. I can do the whole ‘until death do us part’ thing, but that’s it. I do not serve the dead, Mikey. You die before me, my heart decides who takes your place, not my mind. The rest is just my occupation.” 

Michael lets go of Sasha’s shirt and removes the scalpel from his neck. “Give me your gun.”

Sasha hands it over and Michael walks over to the desk and puts it down there then walks over to the woman on the tarp. He stops and looks down on her silently for a long time, as if Sasha isn’t even there. Sasha is a bit unnerved by Michael’s erratic behaviour. It’s the insanity. The fact that Sasha has just admitted to wanting to shoot some of Michael’s brothers _and_ talked about the _Porodica_ falling apart as an irrefutable truth should have been met with another reaction. _Any_ reaction. The song keeps playing on repeat. It’s a perfect horror movie setting. Fucking _silence of the lambs_.

”He knows. He always knows, Aleksandr. I don’t know how, but _Otac_ knows,” Michael says at long last, barely audible over the loud music. He gestures down on the dying woman. “This is all I can have. The only real emotions I’m allowed from mudmonkeys. Their hate, their fear, their pain. I can only be close to them like this. The only truly intimate moment I’m allowed to share with them is their pain and death. Anything but that…” He looks up and scans the room again as if he is searching for hidden cameras, bugs, hidden watchers. Then he shakes his head and straddles the woman. “Now this useless piece of human waste wouldn’t even give me that. The light went out of her the moment I took her. No fight, no flame burning. She just gave up.” He sneers in disgust, grabs her jaw and forces her to look at him. When she does he places a cut with surgical precision along the jugular vein. It doesn’t take her long to bleed out. Michael turns her head in Sasha’s direction and looks up with a vexated expression. “See what I mean? No fucking difference! _Yuk_.” He gets up and walks back to the desk, dropping the scalpel on it, then turns to Sasha who has remained silent.

”You remember Bella?” Michael asks. Sasha nods. She was the girl Michael had befriended as a child. “I had my first real french kiss from a girl with her when I was eleven. Made my stomach swoop funny. Only fucking friend I’ve had outside the family. I was still under the illusion I could get away with it back then. But he always knows.” Michael falls silent and looks haunted for a moment, then it’s gone, replaced by that post-kill glaze Sasha has come to recognise during these last couple of months. Michael walks up to Sasha. Stands close. Too close. Sasha has the urge to take a step back. But the wall is behind him. “Did you tell him?” Michael asks. Like Sasha would ever betray any of the brothers' to _Otac_. 

”No.”

Michael’s gaze seems to burn through his skull with the intensity he is looking at Sasha yet it’s impossible to tell if Michael believes him or not. Michael raises a finger and gestures up and behind him. “This song… I danced with her to this song.” He looks down on the floor but seems to be caught up watching a memory judging by his eye movements. “Then _Otac_ had me _take care of her_. He was very adamant that I understood that I had done wrong. He knew. We do not mix with mudmonkeys. Unless…” He waves his hand behind his head vaguely in the direction of the dead woman. “We are better than that. We can fake it because it’s the tactical thing to do, but…” He looks up again. Madness clear in his gaze. Sasha keeps his fear at bay outwardly, on the inside it’s another matter. “For the good of the family, he says. Can you explain how Leo’s faith was for the good of the family?”

”It isn’t, Mikey.”

Another moment of silent staring, then Michael leans in close to whisper is Sasha’s ear. “Are we friends, Aleksandr?” He stays that close while waiting for an answer, his breath tickling Sasha’s ear and the heady scent of the blood covering him doing a number on Sasha’s mind. In panic he wonders what the right answer is. If there _is_ a right answer, and if so, if he might come out of this alive if he finds it. The music plays on in the background. … _Won't you come out and play with me? Step by step, Heart to heart…_ This is it. Give in to this madness and give Michael what he really wants and maybe, _maybe_ , he’ll come out of it alive. Or receive a swift death at least. “Yes.” Michael leans back again to look at Sasha, then takes his hand and backs up a few steps, bringing Sasha along. 

When they’re not up against the wall anymore Michael once again steps in close and with slow deliberate movements brings Sasha’s hand around to the small of his back, then takes Sasha’s other hand to do the same so that Sasha is holding him. His own arms comes around to hold Sasha’s waist. Chest to chest, he rests his cheek against Sasha’s shoulder and begins swaying slowly with the music. _We’re slow dancing,_ Sasha thinks in bewilderment. Still he goes along with it. Leans his cheek against the top of Michael’s head and closes his eyes. His thoughts, like a compass pointing north, goes towards Castiel and the last time he’d been so close to a man. If he could do it then, he can do it now. 

The second time the song plays Michael seeks his mouth. “Friends do not kiss,” Sasha says turning his head away, deflecting. Thinking furiously, he tries to figure out if Michael is trying to recreate his most painful murder or if he is hoping to change the course of history. He really hopes it’s the latter. 

”How do I know that?" Mikey asks. "How do _**I**_ know that?”

_Point taken. Just give the man what he wants. I can do that. Anything to win some time to think._ He turns his head again, awkwardly seeking out Michael’s mouth. He kisses the younger man hesitantly. Michael however, is _not_ hesitant about reciprocating and sweeps his tongue out along the seam of Sasha’s mouth, bringing with him the taste of blood from his split lower lip. It tickles the hunger in Sasha. Very much like when the big shark smells blood in Finding Nemo. He opens up to get a better taste. It’s a bit weird kissing a man that isn’t Castiel. It doesn’t evoke the same feelings. Yet he finds that he isn’t put off by it at all. Not by Michael at least. Maybe it’s the emotional attachment. It doesn’t matter. When he sucks in the lower lip in his mouth and suckles it until it starts bleeding again Michael switches gears and rolls his hips against him. Hands roam over Sasha’s back, nails scrapes his neck, breath becomes ragged.

With a hand Sasha feels along the broken rib, gauging how badly hurt Michael is. Michael hisses at the pain but lets him. The rib only appears to be partly cracked, not broken straight off. That’s good news at least. He lets go of Michael’s lip and starts licking and sucking along his neck where his ripped earlobe has left a trail of caked blood. Michael’s response is enthusiastic. Sasha wonders if he could ever find a woman who’d react that way about what blood does to him. He keeps his eyes closed. Michael is roughly the same height as Castiel and his body is more mature than Castiel’s had been, but it’s close enough that the pretence isn’t hard so Sasha goes with it and lets desire take a hold. What other choice does he have? What Michael wants, Michael gets. The alternative would most likely turn a whole other kind of bloody real fast. Sooner than he'd have believed he no longer has to pretend Mikey is Castiel. The desire turns real, heated.

Somehow they end up on the bed, Sasha on top, his shirts discarded. Sasha licks Michael’s torso clean of blood while the younger man fists the sheets and bucks his hips looking for friction. The sticky metallic taste of the blood has Sasha dizzy with screwed up want. It's more than that though. It's the taste of his skin too, Michael's own scent. The way Michael writhes and gasps as a response to his ministrations. It's intense. A simmering heat rather than rough and violent. Sasha's hands are gently soothing over bruises while his mouth and tongue is explorative, aiming for causing pleasure at the same time as he indulges his own wants. Michael keeps his eyes screwed shut, head thrown back, and strokes Sasha's hair with one hand. He mumbles something incoherently now and then but Sasha can't discern what. It doesn't matter. The tension between them that's been building for months is getting an unexpected outlet. Except for their rough breathing and Mikey's occasional mumbles the only other sound is the music playing on repeat.

_”...Bit by bit, Torn apart. We never win. But the battle wages on. For toy soldiers…”_

Once the blood is gone Michael flips them over to lay on their sides. It must hurt like hell. Mikey is far above Sasha's level at ignoring pain. Either that, or the pain of what's going on inside his head far outweighs anything that broken ribs and bruises could ever cause. Mikey strokes Sasha's back, lets his hand wander. He sneaks his hand inside Sasha’s jeans at the back, curving around the ass cheek, pressing a finger against his hole. “ _No,_ ” Sasha protests with a flare of panic. He isn't ready for that. Not now, maybe not ever. His mind is frantically searching for a way out of it that won't trigger Mikey's anger.

Sasha isn’t expecting his protest to be heeded, but no sooner is the word out of his mouth than the hand disappears to stroke his side instead. He feels relieved and slightly bewildered at the respect shown. They keep kissing and caressing, grinding against each other. Michael guides one of Sasha’s hands down to his crotch, presses it against his erection. It feels like a question. That isn’t something new to Sasha considering all those times he has stroked Castiel to completion. He undoes Michael’s jeans, pushes them down far enough to get his dick out of his underwear and jerks the younger man off while continuing kissing. He enjoys this, he realises. Michael or Castiel, it doesn't matter. The feel of a cock in his hand, the breathy broken gasps he causes, it's good. Real good. He gets a flashback of his own young teenage self, disgustedly shouting homophobic slurs at two men he surprised jerking each other off in an alley back in Russia. He wonders what his thoughts would have been if he knew he'd be excited about doing it himself 30 something years down the road. It's funny how you change. How he'd gone from hateful disgust, to reluctant tolerance, to indifference, to this. If someone had told him when he was a teenager that one of his best and most intimate sexual experiences would be Castiel―another man―riding him, he'd have thought they were taking a piss at him.

It doesn’t take long before Mikey comes over Sasha’s hand and stomach. When Michael tugs at Sasha’s jeans button to repay the favour Sasha once again says “No” and gets his wish respected. He's not sure _why_ he says no. He's achingly hard and it wouldn't take much to pull him over. He doesn't want to come though, not now. Maybe it's the underlying fear, temporarily pushed down in the back of his mind. He doesn't want to get that vulnerable in this situation. They lay there then, just resting against each other until their breathing evens out and Sasha's erection goes down. “Now. Will you let me stitch you up and give you something for the pain?” Sasha finally asks.

”Yes,” Michael answers and sits up. The gleam of madness is gone from his eyes but Sasha isn’t fooled. The danger for himself is hardly over. 

Sasha gets up and goes upstairs to get his first aid kit. The urge to run now he is out of the basement is strong. But he doesn’t. When he comes back down again Michael has shut off the music and divested himself of his jeans. His legs has a considerate amount of bruising too. He gives Michael a painkiller, that the younger man hesitates to take, but only for a moment. “Was this caused by someone you want me to take care of?” Sasha asks as he starts washing Michael’s earlobe with antiseptics.

”No. It was Luci,” Michael says, voice flat.

_Oh._ No wonder Michael snapped into madness then. They’ve been attached more or less by the hip since always. He doesn’t ask for details but once he starts stitching Michael gives them anyway.

”A couple of years ago Luce told me the only way he can get turned on enough to want sex is if he cares deeply for the person. Which is a fucking shame because sex is fucking great. I _want_ him to have that experience. But you know why he can’t. It’s not fair. _Fuck_.” Michael runs a hand over his face and falls silent, letting Sasha do his thing, stitching the lobe and his lip. Sasha is good at it. Small neat stitches that would make any surgeon proud and leave the least noticeable scars. When Sasha goes to wash Mikey's knuckles he speaks up again. “Anyway, he obviously found someone so we fought… You know what my orders where? To be allowed to come with Luci? Aside from the obvious which was to report any tendencies for outright rebellion and other missteps? My order was that if he got himself another love I had to kill him. For the greater good of the family. I haven’t told Luci this of course. I just don’t see how it is for the greater good of the family to have us kill each other? That’s what triggered the Purge. Why does he want us to do it now?” Michael stares at Sasha for a while. “What are your thoughts about this?”

”Treacherous.”

”Tell me,” Michael demands.

”From what I’ve seen, _Otac_ no longer has any interest in the good of the _Porodica_. He is old and bored and likes to play mindgames that’ll give him power trips. It’s been going on for at least ten years, since you stopped expanding. I hadn’t realised how bad it had become until I started working so closely with you. At this point I think he enjoys seeing how far he can push you. Like a god demanding sacrifices. Ordinary mudmonkeys isn’t doing it for him anymore. It is very bad for us Croatoans. Bad enough I considered asking for retirement after the visit to the Heart. When you guys start fighting internally, and I think you will, you’ll ask us to attack your brothers and all the sudden the whole system will collapse in on itself. We will no longer know where our loyalty lies or the loyalty of our colleagues. I’d rather not be caught up in that.”

”That _is_ treasonous talk. _Otac_ loves us. And I love my brothers. I’m not going to turn on them.”

”Then you’ll turn on _Otac_ and that will make some of them turn on you. You can’t win this, I don’t think.” Sasha is surprised he isn’t reprimanded for his candor. Possibly because Michael already is set on killing him.

Michael is quiet for a long time after that as Sasha patches him up. He seems to be thinking and his eyelids are getting droopy. It’s the pain medication making him drowsy, Sasha knows. But he hadn’t given him something extreme. He doesn't want someone with tenuous hold of sanity trippy. When Sasha is finally done seeing to all of Michael’s injuries Michael speaks up. “Take off your pants and lay in the bed.” Sasha does as he’s told, removing boots, socks and jeans. In just his underwear he crawls into the bed. Michael lays down beside him and tugs the blanket over the both of them. “He always knows Aleksandr. I don’t get how? We’re all good at faking it so how does he know when we’re not?” he says, staring at the ceiling.

”He’s just a man Mikey. He either uses spies or catch on because when you really care you try to hide it. If you don’t care enough you make no secret of at least to an extent liking someone. It’s not that big a mystery. Your paranoia does his work for him.”

Michael just grunts noncommittally and pets Sasha’s hair for a while before turning over. Somehow, both of them fall asleep shortly thereafter. 

*--*--*

Sasha is woken up by the sound of a gun being cocked. With a sinking feeling of dread he speaks without opening his eyes. “You’re ruining my plans of dying an old man.”

”How did you kill him? Gun? Knife? Drugs?” Michael asks accusingly.

”Kill who?” Sasha counters, still not stirring. He doesn’t want to see the gun pointing at him. He doesn’t want to know when the shot is coming.

”The dud you recruited. The one that gave you the necklace. Anna's brother.”

Sasha swallows. A moment's hesitation, then “I didn’t.”

”So you lied.”

”Partly. I had him nailed in my sniperscope. But in the end… I will not give you my daughter,” he says referencing an earlier conversation they had when he just came to Angel Falls. “I searched out a man by the name he had been going when he was initiated, shot him, then came here to put an end to my boy’s family. Call it a loophole if you will.”

”A loophole?”

”A loophole.”

Silence drags after that. Then the sound of the gun being uncocked and put on the desk. The bed dips and Michael gets back under the covers. “You tell anyone about anything of this I will search you out and gut you like a fish, you hear me? I’ll make it last for days. Are we clear?”

”Crystal clear. Sir.” Sasha’s heart is beating faster now than it was moments ago when he was certain he would be killed within seconds. Did this mean Michael was going to let him live? After all this? After Sasha confessing thoughts that was nothing short of treason, after Michael speaking his fucking heart revealing thoughts he most likely wouldn’t even tell his brothers, after having ( _Sasha’s-not-yet-quite-comfortable-with-calling-it_ )-sex? Was this for real? Or was Michael only lulling him into a false sense of security?

”We _are_ friends, right?” Michael asks after a little while of awkward silence.

”Yes.”

”Then don’t ‘Sir’ me when we’re alone. Go back to sleep.” That last sentence was uttered with such command Sasha almost ‘ _yessir_ -ed him again. Michael’s breathing evened out pretty quickly and turned into not-quite-snores. They were lying close enough for Sasha to feel his body heat, but not touching. Sasha’s urge to bolt was greater than ever. His mind kept reeling with half panicked thoughts. Odd, that this was more scary than the thought of getting killed instantly. It takes him hours before he falls asleep again.

Next time he wakes up Michael has bagged the corpse and cleaned up after himself. Noticing Sasha is awake, he speaks. “Could you get this up the stairs? My rib is killing me. Oh and do you have any more painkillers?”

And that was that. Michael acted as if nothing had happened and Sasha is unnerved. He is really starting to get why the Божја браћа have a tendency for paranoia. He too has a hard time thinking he is getting away with this, despite evidence telling him otherwise. 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter back in May I think and finished editing today. The curse of writing out of order. Please, do comment. Messed up boys are messed up.
> 
> Also, I classify this as dubcon, not noncon, but there's a fine line here. Sasha doesn't really have a choice and the circumstances are... well. You read it. But he doesn't feel molested and may very well have gone along with it by his own free will without a threat involved. If you ask him he will not consider himself raped.


	41. Under Pressure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's only so much mental strain someone can take. Michael is unstable after his fight with Luci and working the Anna gig is taking a toll. It's all getting too personal for Sasha. Making him lose focus...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:**  
>  \- Some really vague consent issues but I don't think it's enough to even warn about in comparison with any consent issues I've posted before. I don't think it could be triggering to anyone who's managed to read this far.
> 
> \- Oh. There's two incidents mentioned here that aren't written yet but has happened. I'm not sure if those two chapters are going to be written, but if they are there are spoilers in this chapter. We'll see. I need to be in Anna's mind to write them and I haven't been for awhile. So while it could be spoilery it only reveals what has happened not the why or how of things.

* * *

**2011**

* * *

Early December

Anna kisses Sasha’s neck and strokes the inside of his thigh upward. He holds back the impulse to throw a punch. "Stop it."

"Come on, Dimi," she coaxes, hand continuing up to his dick. 

"No. Stop it, Anna. I'm not in the mood."

She doesn't listen. Her hand keeps kneading his dick outside of his dress pants, the other one tickles his neck. "I'll just have to get you in the mood then," she mumbles, smiling against his neck. 

His skin crawls in discomfort, that claustrophobic feeling setting in. He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to be touched. He certainly doesn't want to have sex. "I mean it. Stop." When she doesn't stop immediately he roughly shoves her off him, sending her sprawling against the other side of the couch. She stares at him in shock. He shouldn’t have done it. It's not that kind of abuse this relationship is about. It’s too tangible. It requires a dance of groveling and regret he's not up for or she might rebel―seeing how wrong this all is. "Anna. I don't want this right now. Please, respect that. I love you but there's a lot going on in here―" he taps his head, "―right now and it affects my..." he gestures at his crotch. 

"I... I don't turn you on anymore?" she asks uncertainly. 

He hisses in vexation and runs a hand through his hair. It’s true though. She doesn't. It's not her fault. Even with her declining health she's as beautiful as ever. She still has a residue tan from their trip to Hawaii and it suits her. The vacation had been a hit. He'd given it all he had to make it spectacular for her. Mikey would throw a fit if he knew that Sasha had done it solely for Anna's pleasure and had no ulterior motives apart from that. She shone like the sun the whole week, despite the pain and fatigue he knew was plaguing her almost constantly now. They’d come home the 18th of November and then the 20th the thing with Mikey had happened and something changed within Sasha. This relationship play pretend suddenly turned oppressive and hard to keep up.

"It's not about you," he says. "There's things going on at work that has me distracted. But I'm serious, Anna. We might be in a relationship but that neither guarantees constant sexual desire or obliges us to satisfy each other. Have I ever forced you when you didn’t feel like it? Be honest, I won't get mad. Have you ever felt coerced?" He really wants to know this. He knows he can be pushy at times. Nagging when he gets too turned on. But to his knowledge he's never pushed when the no has been genuine. He takes pride in his ability to read body language―a must if you want to survive the kind of life he leads, especially in undercover ops―and he can discern a ‘No’ from a ‘Make me want it’. Something Anna had just failed to do.

"No..."

"Not even when I asked you to masturbate?"

"No. It’s not that I didn't want to. I just felt ashamed and embarrassed at first. But once I got over that it felt liberating.” She hesitates for a bit, then “Dimi, whatever’s going on, if you need to talk you can talk to me."

_Yes, that'd be a hoot. 'Sweetheart, I'm troubled because my boss had a mental breakdown and is currently more unstable than nitroglycerin. And unless he reconciles with his brother I'm afraid it's going to lead to war. On top of that I no longer know what boundaries to keep to my boss and neither does he. I'm in a constant emotional pendulum. Part of me wants to get as far away from him as possible, part of me never wants to leave his side. Oh and sex happened and I didn't_ not _enjoy it. In fact, if I had to choose between getting off with you or with him I wouldn't choose you.'_

_Yeah, that’d go over well indeed._

Sasha fakes a smile. "Thanks, Princess. But I can't. Professional secrecy, confidentiality, all that. I'd be in trouble if I did, you get what I’m sayin?"

He should beckon her to him, comfort her for the shove. It probably hadn't hurt her very much physically but he can see how she tries to hide the sting of rejection and the scare of the sudden force. He can’t make himself. 

She comes anyway, nearing him warily like she expects him to lash out again. When he doesn’t she moulds herself to his side. "I'm sorry, Dmitri. I didn’t mean to try to force you."

He legitimately _hates_ when she apologises. He almost wishes she wouldn't even if it’s a testament of a job well done from his side. This is the first time in a very long time that her apology is for something she's actually done wrong in his eyes. The 'I'm sorries' grates on him even now when it's earned. He has an impulse to slap her and tell her to just _stop_. He wonders if it's guilt that makes him feel that way. Possibly. Not enough for him to regret this whole charade. She has to suffer for Castiel to be free. But still, her strength and ability to cope with loss, pain, and misery impresses him. The robbery, the release of the video, Jake dying back in April, Lottie dying in August... she mourned and adapted with stoicism and speed. It isn't all the tragedies that has broken her―it's _him_.

She could have been a warrior, he thinks not for the first time. He could have bent her the other direction and she could have been a great warrior. Not everyone has the makings for it but she does. Instead he'd bent her out of shape. Broken her. She’s reduced to a mere shell of what she once was, second guessing every move she makes and apologising for everything. It’s a waste. Truly. And yet the necklace around his throat makes it worth it. The price to be paid so Castiel can be forever free from the _Porodica_ in this twisted universe.

He wonders if Castiel will ever find out what the price of his freedom is. If he’ll care. About the death of the real Dmitri Krushnic, the death of his sister, her best friend, her ex boyfriend. (He hopes he doesn’t.) If he’d care about the risk Sasha took by shooting Dmitri instead of him. (He hopes he would.) If he ever thinks of Sasha at all. (He both hopes he does and wishes he doesn’t. That he’ll never cross path with the _Porodica_ again. That he doesn’t squander the gift of a normal life.)

He wonders why he can’t switch his thoughts off and it’s been getting so hard to distance himself from emotional involvement. He never would have guessed this job would take such a heavy toll on him, draining him. But then again, he’s caught between two grindstones. Two people suffering from deep depressions―Anna with her mental fatigue and chronic pain, and Mikey with his shattered mind, losing his grip on reality―pressing in on him relentlessly from two sides.

It’s odd that you don't see how happy you are in a moment, but how it becomes glaringly obvious in the rear view mirror. His time with Castiel had been happy days. He wishes he had known it then, but he was busy figuring out what the hell to make of Anna's deviant brother to see how happy he was even in the simplest moment. 

He wraps an arm around Anna and kisses her forehead. "It's okay, little red. It's okay." 

It's really not. 

She can probably tell because she keeps quiet and just leans on him. He wants to get away but sits still, eyes at the TV but unseeing. Each minute drags. He wonders if this is what it’s like when relationships run their course. He realises that he’s never had one that didn't end with his partner dead or him walking away one way or another to protect them from his job or hide who he really is.

For some reason the thought hits him like a punch in his gut and he has to get up lest he start hyperventilating. He extracts himself from Anna and goes to the porch door. He kicks his feet into the clogs there and goes outside into the cold. Anna watches him go but makes no move to follow.

It’s bitingly cold outside but no wind. Each breath lingers like a mini cloud lit by the full moon. While summer here is beautiful, he thinks twin towns comes to its full right in winter. A thick layer of snow that sparkles like diamonds cast everything in a muting blanket. Both towns came alive when the hockey season started. Kids played hockey on the streets or down on the lake, adults wore their team apparel proudly. The town rivalry flared up full force, sometimes nastily and sometimes in a friendly manner. Sasha might be spending a lot of time inwardly cursing the hassle the weather caused―snow shoveling, traffic jams, layer upon layers of clothes, dead car engines, slush and numb fingers―but truth to be told he didn’t mind as much as he made a show of. Even if he woke up, had to shovel snow just to have to do it again a few hours later―that’s why you should live in an apartment, not own a house btw―he liked winters in these parts. Plus, no bugs about. 

Evenings like these though, made up for all the hassle. The full moon seems unnaturally large and Sasha stares at it, the oppressive feeling he had inside dissipating. He grips the snow covered railing, focusing on the chilly numbing of his hands until the thoughts of lost relationships no longer shakes him. 

_I think too much. Maybe I'm having a midlife crisis?_

He thinks about the fight Michael had with Lucifer. It gives him the feeling of having witnessed the equivalent of the shots in Sarajevo. He wasn't there to see the actual fight but it felt like it. He shudder to think what would happen if they didn't reconcile as they hadn't yet. 

Michael wasn’t allowed to play hockey while his rib was healing and was erratic and unpredictable in his behaviour. He was either seeking Sasha out or outright avoiding him. He had mood swings he never used to have before, he’d space out, or he was as chipper as ever. His impulse control had gone to shit and if they did field work he could either be the smooth ace Sasha had come to love working with or downright suicidal in his recklessness.

_It’s not a midlife crisis, Sash. It’s living in uncertainty, fear for your own safety and worry about Michael. It’d fuck you up no matter what age you were._

One thing was clear and that was how heavily dependant Mikey was on Lucifer. 

It's in their title. “God brother”. He always used to think it was what they saw themselves as. Gods and brothers. Now he thinks maybe there's another interpretation. More like brother of a god. Which means that without a brother they themselves can't be a god either. These philosophical thoughts makes his head hurt, but it fits with how they are raised. Destruction came with aligning themselves with anyone outside the family. They were all king Midas except if they touched a living soul it turned to dust―not gold, and they themselves risked annihilation if they did. It was fucking idiotic but it had put the family on top of the food chain and made them the most powerful crime syndicate in the world.

Sasha thinks of his own accumulated wealth he barely touches and wonders why they think it’s worth it. If he were to spend it he’d buy a couple of apartments all over the world. That’s about it. He could flit like a butterfly between them when he got restless. When he was young and just beginning to reap the sows of being a Croatoan he’d bathed himself in luxury, always gone for penthouse accommodations if available, champagne, girls, luxury items… It wasn’t him though, just a reaction to growing up poor and suddenly have it all. It grows tedious. So why would you want unlimited power when you were so bound with how you could use it? Lucifer was the living proof that not all of them did want that and that _Otac_ was a cruel and capricious god demanding nothing but strict obedience.

He hears Anna open the porch door and step outside but he doesn’t turn around.

“Come inside, Dimi. You’re gonna catch pneumonia.”

He turns his head to look at her. She’s put on the thick red hoodie he’d given her and is hugging her chest to keep the chill at bay. Mikey had caught onto the hidden joke in the gift and Sasha had come home to _Little Red Riding Hood_ with Sam the Sham  & the Pharaos playing on the stereo while Mikey gave him a shiteating grin. Hidden joke aside, it is a good sweater. Warm and soft as lamb's wool on the inside. He beckons Anna to him and she comes. He circles her with his arms and kisses the top of her head. He whispers to her, hoping the microphones won’t be able to catch what’s said. “Something very big happened at work and brings with it a lot of changes. It keeps me distracted and in a foul mood and I’m sorry that you have to suffer for it. It’s really nothing to do with you, Princess.. I want you to know that, okay?”

Anna looks up at him and nods. 

“I really don’t want you to take shit you don’t deserve. I think it’s best if…” he pauses and takes a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. “Anna, I need to be alone for a while. Just to sort my head out and figure out what to make of this new situation I’m in. A couple of days, a week perhaps…”

“You’ve not grown tired of me?”

_Yes, I have._

He smiles warmly and reassuringly and hugs her closer. “Of course not, little red. I could never grow tired of you.”

* * *

He parks his car in the rarely used adjoining garage in his house. The relief he feels about getting away from Anna's house is palpable. He goes into the house and changes clothes to gear suitable for prolonged outdoor stay in this weather, then he goes for a walk. It’s quiet, not many people or cars moving about. It’s just the sound of snow creaking underfoot, his breathing, and when he nears the river the eerie song of ice shifting. The sound of glass breaking draws him, like sounds of distress will do. It’s coming from a school and he arrives in time to see a couple of figures climb inside of a broken window.

Curiosity drives him to follow them inside. Turns out it’s only three drunk youths pulling a prank on the principal by setting up a trap with water balloons in his office so Sasha leaves before they can spot him. 

His head is blessedly free from brooding as he wanders aimlessly. Subconsciously it must still be hard at work because he ends up outside of the Garrison. He’s never been inside but Mikey had described the place to him. He looks up and finds light coming from two windows. Michael’s attic loft only has a small triangle for a window under the roof, but big enough for Sasha to see Mikey standing there, head directed skywards at the moon. Further down in one of the rooms Lucifer stands leaning against the side of the window frame, arms crossed in front of his chest and gaze also locked at the moon. When Sasha looks back at Mikey’s window he’s no longer there. Sasha turns and leaves before they spot him. He’s clad in dark clothes and a balaclava covers his face, only revealing his eyes. He wouldn’t want those two mistaking him for someone with hostile intentions in the darkness.

He gets a couple of hundred meters before he hears “Aleksandr! Wait up!” yelled after him. He stops and turns, giving Michael time to catch up. He’s similarly clad as Sasha is except all of his gear is white bar from the boots and _The Angels_ logo on his jacket. Even his balaclava under his knitted cap is white. When he is almost alongside Sasha, Sasha turns and starts walking again. Michael falls into perfect step beside him. They move in such unison that someone listening to their steps would only hear one set of feet walking. Sasha likes that.

Mikey doesn’t speak, doesn’t ask where they are going or why, just keeps pace with Sasha, letting him be their guide. They end up on main street and follow it to the river where they walk over the big bridge. Despite the stillness of the night there’s still revelry going on at the Crossroads. Michael stops to stare inside through the windows. Sasha follows his gaze and spots Sam and Dean Winchester, each with a girl on their lap. Mikey has honed in on Sam. “I should just make short work of it and take him out,” he says.

_It’d just break your heart. Please don’t._

Sasha remains quiet.

“I just don’t get when he developed strong enough emotional attachment to want to fuck the guy? I mean, Luci wasn’t always with me during the sessions,” Mikey says with vexation clear in his voice. He’s frowning deeply enough for it to be visible through the slit of the balaclava.

_That_ certainly gets Sasha’s attention.

“Sam is the one Lucifer…?”

“Yes.”

“In that case, stay your hand. Lucifer will never forgive you. If you kill the boy he’ll set the world on fire and the _Porodica_ with it.” 

_Not to mention that you yourself are just as attached to the boy._

Mikey turns his head and regards Sasha. It prompts him to keep talking. “I’m telling it as I see it, Michael. Losing his dog made him reject the _Porodica_ almost completely. If it wasn’t for you maybe he’d have totally lost it. If he’s fallen in love with the boy… well. I have no doubt it’d mean internal war within the family. As for when? They’ve met and that’d be enough. It took me one car ride to want to recruit the boy as a Croatoan. He’s sharp as a whip and since he told me you and him have been playing for years he shows resilience of the soul you rarely see. He’s very easy to like.”

“You want to recruit him? You never told me that.”

“The Anna gig is in the way. I just think he has a shitload of potential. Plus, I suspect you would have said no. You wouldn’t have handed off a favourite plaything to a croat, would you?”

Mikey looks down on the ground and scrapes with a boot in the snow. He’s quiet for a while. Sasha doesn’t think he’s going to answer at all, but then his head snaps up. “I guess we’ll never find out now. Come. Let’s go home.” He starts off in the direction they came from in a brisk walk. Sasha catches up and falls in line. Mikey doesn’t head for the Garrison, he turns in the direction of Sasha’s house instead and Sasha doesn’t question it.

Sasha never have any clue as to when he can act as he would with a friend and when he can't. He keeps testing it out, unhinging the balance more and more. Each time he does he puts himself at risk and he knows it. Yet he can't keep from poking the bear. When they near his house he falls behind and pulls down the bottom of the balaclava to reveal his face. Then he scoops up some snow and squeezes it to a ball. For a Croatoan this is out of line, for a friend it isn't. 

Mikey doesn’t see it coming and it hits perfectly in the back of his head. He spins around, eyes widened in indignant outrage. 

Sasha directs a shiteating grin his way and scoops up more snow to make a new snowball while he leans forward, legs wide apart and wiggles playfully. 

This time Mikey takes the bait, the anger in his eyes giving way to mischief. "Oh, you're in trouble now," he says and makes a snowball of his own. Then the chase is on. They assault each other with snowballs, only half-heartedly avoiding getting hit, and laughing chase each other towards the house. By the time they reach it Michael does a full body check on Sasha that sends the both of them to the ground. Mikey straddles him and shovels snow all over his face and chest until Sasha sits up and catches him around the waist, twisting them around and reversing their roles. 

They end up having snow everywhere, including inside their clothes despite being well dressed. They are out of breath from laughing when Mikey surrenders. 

"How is your rib holding up?" Sasha asks while Michael sits up, Sasha still straddling him. It puts them too close but one of Michael’s arms come around his waist, preventing him from getting off of him. 

Michael pulls down the bottom of his balaclava to reveal his face before he speaks. "Painful as fuck. If you have something for it I'd be grateful. Something good. That gives a nice buzz."

Sasha gets a bad sense of foreboding when Mikey says that last sentence. He hopes it's just his own old ghosts that haunts him. Nevertheless he protests. "You should stay away from the stuff that gives you a buzz, Mikey. It'll lead to ruin, believe me. It’s my area of expertise. You should take it easy instead, you get what I’m sayin?" Something Michael refused to do. He might not be allowed to play hockey, but any admonitions or requests for him to take it easy and heal in peace were either ignored or met with anger. 

"Fuck you, croat. Unless you want me to go through your jar and take something randomly you get me what I ask for," Michael answers with a smile that takes the harshness out of the words. He might just do it too which would be _so_ much worse than just giving him a buzz. He might accidentally kill himself if he did. Maybe that's the point and that makes Sasha’s chest constrict. He'd rather let Mikey get sucked into addiction than lose him to death.

Sasha grunts in displeasure. He still wants to argue but there’s only so much he dares to push his luck. “As you wish, Michael. As soon as we get inside.”

When they get inside Mikey drops his clothes inside the door and wanders off. Sasha can hear the shower starting up while he hangs up their gear to dry. Mikey doesn’t take a very long shower and Sasha’s in the kitchen when he comes back dressed in a pair of Sasha’s sweatpants while toweling his hair. Sasha’s put two pills on the table along with a glass of water. He still feels uncomfortable doing that. Not giving Mikey pain relief. But Mikey had specifically requested something stronger than what it’d would take to kill pain. Mikey swallows the pills and downs the water. “You got anything to eat?” he asks and continues to dry his hair.

“Nothing ready made.”

“But ingredients?”

Sasha nods.

“You hungry? I haven’t had dinner yet. We can make some?”

Sasha did have dinner earlier but he hardly touched it and it’s well past midnight now. His stomach grumbles to let him know its opinion. “I could eat. Just going to catch a shower first.”

He does, and when he comes back, dressed in a tank top and sweatpants Mikey has put on one of his T-shirts and is busy laying out ingredients on the workbench while frowning down at a cookbook that came with the house. He feels vaguely uncomfortable about Michael using his clothes at the same time as it’s oddly satisfying. He can identify the reason for the clashing feelings. ‘Michael the Бог брат’ intruding so casually into his personal life made him ill at ease, but ‘just Mikey’ doing the same was kind of nice. The conflict comes from not knowing who he’s currently dealing with. “What are we making that’s so advanced we need a cookbook?”

Michael turns around and looks a bit embarrassed. “Steak? With sauce and potatoes?”

Sasha tries to hold back the laughter. He really does. 

“Hey gimme a break! Cooking was never part of my training,” Mikey protests and runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “Real food has always been provided for me. I can’t be expected to know _everything_. Why do you keep yourself so well stocked anyway? You eat at Anna’s more often than not and we always eat take out.”

Sasha’s still chuckling when he walks up to the counter and closes the cookbook. “We don’t need this, I’ll show you. And I keep my pantry and fridge stocked because occasionally I have to cook and I prefer to have everything I need at hand. Plus, I got enough of seeing empty pantries while growing up.” He continues prepping where Mikey left off, laying ingredients, spices, knives and utensils on the bench. “Here. Peel the potatoes first, if you find any green spots you throw them away. Put the peeled ones in this pot when you’re done.” He fills the pot half-full with cold water and peels a potato to demonstrate. “Once the potato is cut it will go brown if you don’t put it in cold water. It’s still edible and doesn’t change taste, but that’s why you’re gonna put it in the pot, looks more appetising,” he says and throws the potato into the pot with a little splash. “Now you try,” he says and hands Mikey the potato peeler.

Michael has been following his moves with interests and gets right to it just as he did as a kid, no posturing about taking orders―he wants to learn. “Why do they turn brown?”

“Enzymes reacting to oxygen,” Sasha answers and turns on the radio. He proceeds to arrange each step in making the dish as stations with ingredients, bowl, and utensils. Everything to make it easy to understand what is needed for what. If Mikey wanted to learn, he would.

Mikey had gotten a hang of the peeling by now, making fast progress in the pile. It wasn’t as if was rocket science. Although, to some, maybe it is, he thinks, remembering the results of Castiel’s ventures into cooking. “Why aren’t you with Anna?” Michael asks while he works.

“I took a vacation.”

“A vacation? You were in Hawaii not long ago.”

“That was work. I needed a break.”

“What prompted that?”

Sasha is quiet and leans back against the counter, absentmindedly fingering his pendant while looking at his bare feet with a little frown. Michael looks up at him and raises an eyebrow in question, prompting him to speak. “She pushed for sex and I wasn’t up for it.”

“You’ve never had any trouble fucking her before. Can’t be that hard to just―”

Sasha cuts him off with an angry scowl. “I’m your attack dog, Mikey, not your fucking bitch in heat. You want porn you hire a sex worker.”

Mikey looks taken aback by the sudden vehemence in his voice but instead of getting angry his face smooths out and turns thoughtful when he looks back at what his hands are doing. “You’re right. My bad.”

Sasha sighs and crosses his arms over his chest. “I just want to be myself for a fucking moment. I don’t want to be there. I don’t want her touching me. I don’t… I can’t breathe, you get what I’m sayin? I just need a respite. I mean, I’m good at undercover jobs but…” he trails off. 

“Mm. I forget sometimes that your first choice wouldn’t have been the role as a lover. You seemed to enjoy yourself. I don’t want any mudmonkeys touching you against your will. But I can’t help to wonder, is there anything in particular that triggered it? I have been a bit too preoccupied to pay full attention since...” this time it’s Mikey that trails off and leaves the sentence hanging. It’s not strange that Lucifer is the thing that occupies Michael’s thoughts right now. 

“Are you asking in the capacity of a friend?” Sasha asks, quite boldly.

Michael blinks at him, startled, then after a beat he answers almost hesitantly. “I… I suppose I am.”

Sasha looks at him, weighing his options. Shoving a reminder of how Michael is breaking rules in his face is stupid, to say the least. It’s not even close to self-preservatory and Sasha wonders why he keeps doing this. Pushing at Mikey, testing him over and over like a child trying to figure out where the boundaries are. He’s not going to find them anyway as they shift back and forth like waves and that madness he’d been met by in the basement on the day of Michael and Lucifer’s fight could snap back into existence in Mikey’s eyes at any moment. But if he was going to answer this he needed to know. There’s a world of difference between ‘Never lie to a Бог брат’ and giving up real fucking personal stuff that a superior had no business knowing. “Anna lost her period a while back,” he answers at last.

“She’s pregnant?”

“No. She isn’t.” 

Michael scrutinizes Sasha so intently he feels prompted to speak again.

“She tested herself this morning. Peed on three fucking sticks. She isn’t pregnant, it’s her body shutting down.”

“But you’re disappointed,” Mikey states.

“I’m not.”

“You look it.”

“I just think too much. I may be having a midlife crisis, what do I know?” Sasha waves it off. He’d been both relieved and disappointed when the tests came up negative. But it left him restless, listless, with some distant ache in his chest that shouldn't be there.

Michael chuckles and throws the last potato in the pot. “Midlife crisis, huh?” His eyes sparkle in amusement.

Sasha’s lips twitch. “Hey now. I’m old enough. I think I’m entitled,” he says, smirking now, and leans back nonchalantly on his elbows on the counter, crossing his ankles in front of him.

“Yes, because you’re _so_ old,” Mikey says teasingly and rolls his eyes like he finds the concept absurd.

“I bought a pair of _ripped_ jeans. I’ve got a teenage girlfriend. All I need now is a red sports car and the decline into pathetic midlife crisis is complete,” Sasha says, still smirking.

Mikey laughs and dries his hands on a kitchen towel. “The jeans and the girl are job requirements and doesn’t count. _Pops_.”

“I turned 47 the fifth of September, Mikey. Ain’t no spring chicken anymore.” At this particular moment he doesn’t feel very old though. Nor lonely or annoyed. He feels rather calm and comfortable. A stark contrast to how he felt earlier tonight when he left Anna.

Mikey however suddenly looks bothered. “Shit. I forgot your birthday. Should have given you something. I honestly have no clue what to get you...”

Sasha snorts in amusement and pushes himself off the counter. Birthdays were a big deal for the Sin-Božji. Not their own as much as their brothers’. They didn’t pay attention to birthdays of Croatoans however and back in September it shouldn’t have crossed Mikey’s mind―or if it did―he shouldn’t have acted upon it. “Awww,” he coos and saunters up to Mikey. “You don’t have to buy me anything. Just get a couple of crayons and draw me something nice to put on the fridge. I’ll pretend I see what it’s supposed to be and ignore the extra lines you put on your backwards turned E, little Mikey boy,” he says and ruffles Mikey’s hair playfully.

“ _Hey_!” Mikey sputters with a grin and punches him on the shoulder. “Don’t call me ‘little boy’.”

“Don’t call me ‘pops’ or ‘dad’ and I won’t have to. I’ll never be one. So. Back to cooking.” Sasha directs Mikey to put salt in the water and how to cook it, then moves on to the next station he’s prepared to show Michael how to make a quick marinade for the steaks. 

While they’re standing there Mikey mutters “I’ll have you know that if I did draw you a picture you’d be in awe at my skill.”

“And that’s exactly what I would tell you while admiring how you’ve drawn stick legs and arms coming straight from a blobhead,” Sasha agrees sagely and sniggers.

They continue bantering and talking about nonsense as the meal preparation progresses. At times they’re quiet or humming along with the radio. Unlike when he’s playing house with Anna this actually feels domestic and peaceful. It’s lucky that he’s so attuned to Mikey’s mood swings since the fight with Luci though…

He’s manning the stove, frying the steaks while Mikey’s cutting vegetables for the salad further down on the counter when there’s a sudden and subtle switch in the air that sets off the alarms in Sasha’s head. Mikey has gone too still. Trusting instinct he jerks back just as Michael spins around and throws the knife. It wizzes by just centimeters from Sasha’s nose―where his head had been just a beat earlier―and imbeds itself in the wall.

Pulse elevated and with a fresh dose of adrenaline surging through his bloodstream he throws an assessing glance at Michael, keeping his emotions off his face.

Michael is for once _not_ hiding his emotions. However, there are so many of them going on behind those widened eyes and rigid posture it’s hard to tell what he’ll do. His expression somewhere between how-the-fuck-did-I-fail? and oh-no-what-the-hell-did-I-do?. He looks frightened. Not of getting killed, Sasha’s sure. If there was one thing Michael had displayed too often since the fight with Luci it was a major deathwish. 

What do you do when faced with a frightened and potentially aggressive animal? _You act calm and unruffled, don’t let it know you’re afraid._

Keeping his exterior calm Sasha tugs the knife out of the wall, turns to the stove and proceeds to cut into the steak a little to check how done it is, as if Mikey merely had done him a favour by passing him the knife. He may not be looking at Michael, but all his focus is on the rigid figure staring at him. “A few more minutes, then they’re done,” Sasha remarks, half turns towards Michael and calmly throws the knife back, aiming at the wooden cutting board where it embeds itself with a _doi-oi-oing_. “Would you mind cutting the tomatoes into cubes,” he asks in a light tone. “I prefer it that way.”

Michael blinks at him, then at the knife still quivering slightly beside him on the cutting board. Then he seems to give himself a mental shake and relaxes. “Yeah. Sure.” He goes back to making the salad and Sasha feels like sagging in relief against the wall. He doesn’t of course, and it still takes a couple of minutes for his heart to calm down but no more attacks come.

“Hey, you wanna watch a movie while we eat?” Mikey asks a moment later, now back in the same calm state as he was before throwing the knife at Sasha.

“Sure. Why not?”

“Any suggestions?”

Sasha looks at the hole in the wall, then at the cutting board, then at Mikey, a smile growing on his lips. “How about Mr and Mrs Smith?”

Mikey bursts out laughing. “Shit, Aleksandr. You sure got some twisted humour in you.”

Sasha sniggers. “ _You_ started it.”

“It would have been a mercy towards you.”

Sasha blows a raspberry. “Pfhah! I don’t want that kind of mercy. Now go set the table and I’ll bring the food.”

Later when they have eaten in front of the TV and are just watching the movie in lazy contentment, Mikey lying in the couch with his legs over Sasha’s lap, Sasha reflects that despite it all―despite having to be on his guard for Michael’s erratic mood swings, the ongoing conflict between the two brothers, despite Anna constantly reminding him of Castiel―he will probably think back on this time as happy days. “So why are you here tonight?” he asks on impulse.

“Huh? Oh. The team has a bunch of away games coming up and I can’t play so I’m not going.”

“Not what I asked,” Sasha prods.

Michael huffs in annoyance and stares at him in a clear non-verbal reprimand. Sasha holds his hands up in defeat and goes back to watching the TV. He puts his hands on Michael’s legs and rubs his thumbs back and forth seemingly absentmindedly. It isn’t. He’s figured out that Mikey is about 70% more likely to be cooperative if he’s being touched. There’s a greater chance he’ll snap into Бог брат-mode too but Sasha thinks it’s worth the risk, especially now when the pills he gave Mikey on request makes the younger man pleasantly buzzed.

After about two minutes Mikey scowls and speaks up. “Since the fight he’s fucking _always_ arguing against me.”

“Lucifer?”

“Yes. Doesn’t matter what I say. Even things I _know_ he agrees with. He just―” Mikey makes a frustrated noise and throws an arm over his eyes. “Any time we’re in the same room he watches me like I’m a poisonous snake. It has come to blows a couple of times. Nothing serious. Everyone in the team is walking on needles, fucking all but quivering in fear when we’re in the near vicinity of each other. And I can’t tell any of my brothers that we’re fighting without explaining why. If I do Luci is dead. I just want him to get back on the right track so I can protect him. _Fuck_.”

Sasha deliberates what to do. It’s worse than he imagined. He needs the pair reconcile. If he could just make them, somehow... That’d take some heavy manipulation. If this runs its course his own safety and comfortable living would be in jeopardy. On the other hand, he’d be in trouble if he tried to manipulate Mikey and got caught at it. But if he doesn’t Lucifer would be in risk of losing his life, Mikey would break down totally and the lives of the other brothers he cares for would be threatened in civil war. Not a hard choice.

_What would a_ Бог брат _do in a situation like this?_ Acting like the people Michael feels the most relaxed and trusting with will benefit any plans Sasha has to steer Mikey in a direction he wants and also (hopefully) keep Mikey talking openly. Backlashes like the one in the kitchen is a risk Sasha’s willing to deal with. 

“Come here,” he says and pats the space beside himself, letting his arm go up on the backrest to invite Mikey to fit himself into the space below like one of the Божја браћа would have done. Mikey lifts his arm from his eyes to peek underneath it. As soon as he sees what Sasha is offering he sits up and scoots in under Sasha’s arm, curling up like a little boy. Sasha pets his hair with the arm not holding him. He may have ulterior motives but they benefit Michael so he doesn’t feel bad about it. This is what they do, the Божја браћа. It’s far off from what Sasha considers normal for a friendship, or any male relationship really. But considering what the two of them has done already it doesn’t feel uncomfortable. It feels nice even. A vast improvement since earlier the same day.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A thanks directed to [mizz_kitty21](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mizz_kitty21/pseuds/mizz_kitty21) for kicking me into gear again. :)
> 
> Still have a block that prevents me from getting the next chapter in VC done but I've got other things finished that I haven't published for various reasons. Some of them dumb. So I'll try to post what I got. <3


	42. Can I Say No?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In hindsight, taking a road trip with Mikey maybe wasn't a good idea. But what choice did he have?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:**  
>  \- Frottage  
> \- Discussion of consent

* * *

**2011**

* * *

Early to mid-December

Michael hasn’t touched him sexually since the day of the fight and Sasha thinks that day was some kind of exception because Michael was so broken up. Not that he’s worried about it, but he thinks it won’t happen again.

It does. 

Michael suggests a road trip since Sasha’s on ‘vacation’. It’s idiotic and Sasha shouldn’t have said yes, but he does. It turns into a mad trip filled with booze, girls, and violence. 

Although Michael is alone in whoring around. Sasha simply isn't interested in sex for some reason and any discomfort he shows at being hit on ends with Mikey turning violent towards “the mudmonkey whore who dares to touch him against his will”. It forces Sasha to keep a cold and hard exterior to put women off or they'll end up badly beaten for no good reason. Michael don't display any jealousy though the one time Sasha ends up making out drunkenly with a woman who reminds him of Jody.

Michael is self-destructing and Sasha can do almost nothing to stop it. They stay overnight at crappy motels or luxury hotels and basically drink themselves into oblivion every night. Sasha knows he shouldn’t drink as much, but following Mikey in this is a bit like being a one legged rodeo clown surrounded by a dozen of enraged bulls. Drinking along with Mikey helps keeping sane while Michael follows every fucking impulse he has. He reminds himself that he is first and foremost a Croatoan―property. It isn't his place to control.

On the sixth day they get separated during the evening and Sasha calls it a night around midnight, almost sober for once, going back to the motel room alone. He undressed to his underwear and gets into his bed. Falling asleep doesn’t take long. He wakes up maybe an hour later when Mikey comes home. Sasha raises his head from his pillow to look at Mikey, catching an unfamiliar vibe about him.

Michael hones in on Sasha, eyes all intent and glazed, making Sasha’s pulse jump in anticipation and/or apprehension. The vibe he caught wasn't as unfamiliar as he first thought. It's akin to the post-kill fever Mikey gets, but not quite. That makes Sasha ill at ease but it's the unknown element that does it, his gut feeling gives him no warning. 

Michael kicks off his shoes and drops his jacket where he stands. He doesn’t say anything, just keeps his gaze locked with Sasha, radiating determination. He stalks up to Sasha’s bed, drops to his knees on its bottom edge and stills. Sasha is as still as he is, waiting, not sure what to expect. At first he suspected an attack was coming. Yet another one of those instances when Mikey suddenly got in his head that it would be a mercy to kill him quickly rather than risk their newfound closeness be discovered. But no. This is something else. 

As if to confirm his suspicion Michael pulls the blanket off of him, laying him bare in the semi-darkness. Michael trails his eyes over him slowly while running his tongue over his teeth under his closed lips―a thinking tell. Then he reaches out and runs his hand up from ankle to shin, curving underneath his calves. Sasha catches onto his intent, uncertain what to do about it. “Sir?” Mikey shakes his head but doesn’t answer. “Mikey?” This time he gets a distracted affirmative hum and Mikey scoots higher up on the bed between Sasha’s legs, caressing his knees and thighs. He bends down and kisses the inside of Sasha’s knee, then places more kisses up along the inside of his thigh. His breathing is heavy, coming in warm puffs against Sasha’s skin, signalling that he’s already aroused.

Sasha lets his head fall back down on the pillow, staring up at the ceiling. He’s unsure of what to do. It’s not as off putting as it should be. 

_Can I say no?_

There is no protocol for this and that is his biggest problem. Despite being someone living outside the law his life had for the most part been guided by strict regulations and rules. He always knew by what rules he was playing and that made it easy to decide how to act and what the consequences were if he broke or bent the rules. Not so now. It is near impossible to establish a frame for how this forbidden friendship between them should work when Mikey mentally had gone off into the deep end. Sasha isn’t too keen on sex being added in the mix. Keen or not, an involuntary gasp escapes him when Mikey’s mouths his balls through the fabric of his underwear and continues to kiss down the inside of his other thigh.

His dick isn’t plagued by the same doubts and insecurities as his head and is starting to fill with blood. Mikey’s finds his way back to his crotch and runs his tongue over his dick, starts mouthing it through the fabric and Sasha’s hips roll to meet him of their own accord. His breathing is getting heavier as tendrils of arousal unfurls through his body under Mikey’s ministrations. He’s letting it happen but not participating, keeping his hands on the sheets to his sides. It’s far from unpleasant. It feels real fucking good but the question of whether or not he can say no keeps bouncing in his mind, holding him back.

Mikey continues upward, kissing and caressing his body, laying down on top of him and seeking his mouth. The kiss is demanding. Tongue forcing its way into his mouth rather than asking to be let in. At the same time Mikey grinds his crotch against his, eyes closed. Sasha’s instincts tells him to go with it. The impulse is to grab a hold of Mikey’s ass and drag him closer, rubbing them together. He doesn’t.

He’d expected Michael to find a woman to fuck and come staggering in in the early hours, possibly covered in blood, possibly demanding help to get rid of a body. Not this. 

Michael’s hands finds his hair and cards through it, tugs. His mouth starts wandering down Sasha’s neck, making goosebumps follow in its wake. Sasha can’t get past that little hangup in his mind though. He needs to know. He _needs_ to. He pushes at Mikey’s shoulders before he gets too carried away to find out. “No. Stop. Get off me.”

Michael curses and hisses in frustration, but pushes himself off Sasha and off of the bed as soon as he's told ‘no’. He gives Sasha a resentful glare then stalks towards his own bed where he sits down with his back against Sasha and removes his clothes except for the underwear. He crawls under the blanket, cuts the light and says “Goodnight.”

Sasha hadn’t expected that. Mikey doesn’t share his consent issues. Not normally. Definitely not during this road trip where Mikey’s inhibitions has been at an all time low. He takes what he wants, raised to know it’s his god given right to do so.

It did answer the question he’d had ringing in his head any time he thought about what happened on the day of the fight. He squeezes his erection through his underwear, makes a split second decision and slips out of bed. He crosses the space between their beds and crawls on top of Mikey.

“What the hell are you d- _mpff_ ” Sasha’s kiss cuts him off. Mikey shoves him and holds him at bay on a straight arm. He looks furious. “ _The fuck_ , Aleksandr? You just told me to get off you!”

“I needed to know if I had a choice,” Sasha clarifies.

Michael’s eyes widen in understanding, the anger melting away and his mouth forming a silent ‘O’. Then he pulls Sasha down on top of himself again, kisses him with passion and rolls his hips up to meet Sasha’s. 

This time there’s no blood as an incentive, Sasha doesn’t close his eyes to form an image of Castiel and he doesn’t wish Mikey was a woman. He doesn’t have to. It was Mikey that turned him on and that’s all he needs. They kiss and grope and nip and bite and grind. Mikey doesn’t like being pinned down and spins them around so he is on top. To be honest, he’s not too keen on being pinned down either, but it’s not a big enough aversion to make a fuss about. He pulls at the waistband of Mikey’s underwear, wanting him naked.

Mikey complies, removing his underwear and then sits up between Sasha’s legs and pulls his underwear off too before laying down on top of him again. This time Sasha grabs a hold of Mikey’s ass and pushes them together in a steady rhythm, their cocks sliding together trapped between them. He bites and mouths at Mikey’s neck and shoulder. It brings back memories of sinking his teeth into Castiel’s shoulder years ago, a feral mark of possession that Castiel had asked for. He doesn’t bite that hard now though. Michael wouldn’t stand for it if he understood it was something else than just a love bite getting out of hand in the heat of the moment. Sasha’s the possession, not the other way around. If Mikey caught him at it he’d be dead in a heartbeat. That wouldn’t be friendship, it would be hubris. Flying too close to the sun. In his state of arousal he wants to, though. He wants to own Mikey like he himself is owned. Maybe it's because Michael in a way has demanded to get the part of him that is wholly himself, not just the part of him that is a Croatoan. 

It’s rather violent―but in a good way―fueled by pent up frustration, fear for the future and god knows what other underlying feelings there is. He can't help but to test limits. Pulling Mikey’s hair to bare his throat is a no go and he gets his hand yanked away and a stinging slap to his cheek, followed by a growled “Watch it, _croat_.” Any too dominant gesture is reprimanded somehow, but not pain. He digs his fingers into the meat of Mikey’s ass cheeks, so hard the crescents of his nails draw blood. Mikey keens with pleasure and ruts harder, a steady stream of precome and the sweat they've worked up slicking the glide of their trapped cocks deliciously. “That’s it, sweetheart. Feels so good.” The encouragement is too much of a temptation. Sasha gives in and buries his teeth in the meaty part of Michael’s shoulder, hoping Mikey will think it's a sex thing and not a mark of possession. 

He would have kept his teeth dug in too if he hadn't suddenly felt a finger probing at his hole. He reacts instinctively, shying away from the touch, scowling and pushing at Mikey. “No. Don’t go there.” There’s a flash of resentful annoyance in Mikey’s face, gone as soon as it came, but he withdraws his finger without question. Sasha relaxes again as soon as the finger is gone. He’s not interested in letting anyone in there. Fingers in his ass he relates to body cavity searches and prostate exams (yes he’s had them). The thought of taking a dick up there leaves him far too vulnerable. He’s allowed to have hangups. There’s only so many new tricks you can teach an old dog and adjusting his attitude towards sex with men is not an overnight process for him.

Taking advantage of the slight gap between them that formed when he shied away, Sasha slips a hand in to grab his and Mikey’s cocks and he starts to jerk them off with slow steady movements. Mikey makes a contented noise and kisses him again.

Mikey does his own share of testing, maybe not so much testing the limits as trying out what Sasha responds to. The result is that he is far gentler with Sasha than Sasha is with him. Albeit, calling it gentle is missing the target. That would imply that his touches are sweet rather than hungry and greedy like they are. But it hadn’t taken him long to figure out that pain is not a sexual stimulant for Sasha like it is to him. He keeps his bites and nips, pinches and squeezes soft enough not to hurt, but with enough pressure to be felt.

They’re both rutting into Sasha’s hand now and he can feel his orgasm closing in, the familiar pressure at the base of his spine building and nonsense words in Russian spilling out of his lips. Mikey suddenly sits up between his legs and slaps his hand away. Sasha makes a guttural angry noise of protest and moves to pull Mikey back down only to get his wrists grabbed and twisted down onto the mattress beside his hips. “I want to taste you,” Mikey says which instantly kills any bodily resistance Sasha put up.

“I’m not going to suck you off, Michael,” Sasha says with a hint of apprehension because as keen as he is on having Mikey blow him (and he is _really_ keen on that) he’s not ready to reciprocate. Given enough time, rinse and repeat of this experience he’s sure he will be ready to take a dick in his mouth, but not yet.

Mikey grins. “I’m not gonna ask you to, Aleksandr. But you have a gorgeous cock and I want to taste it.” He starts lowering his head down towards it, licking his lips, then stops and looks up on Sasha. “Is that okay?”

Sasha lets out a disbelieving laugh tinged by frustration and lifts his hips to get closer to Mikey’s mouth, his dick giving an involuntary twitch. “Knock yourself out. _Please_.” The mere idea of saying no is absurd to him. But maybe not to Mikey considering he had denied Mikey to bring him to release the last time. This time Sasha doesn’t hold back his fear of being vulnerable. 

Mikey keeps his grip on Sasha’s wrists and licks a stripe from root to tip along the thick vein then sucks the tip into his mouth, tongue licking at his slit. “Fuck, sweetheart, you taste so good,” he says and then sinks down as far as he can over Sasha’s cock, starting to bob his head up and down.

Sasha hisses between his teeth. It feels really good. Michael is no beginner at this, that’s for sure. And what’s making it ten times hotter is that it’s one of the Божја браћа giving him head, after _asking for permission_. That thought alone is making him dizzy. It’s a god servicing his priest, a king his knight, a master his slave. This is a good reason why sex should never occur between the Божја браћа and their Croatoans. The power trip it gives him has him hurdling towards completion way faster than it should. This is how he’ll forget his proper place and how fragile his position really is. Too many emotional and mental layers overlapping at once. An internal rebellion against all the sacrifices he’s made for the _Porodica_ over the years mingles with the strong affection and emotional bond he’s forged with Mikey and stimulates him mentally as well as Mikey does physically. “Michael, you’re gonna have to restrain my hips. I won’t be able to hold myself back from thrusting much longer.”

Mikey fucking moans around his cock, vibrations teasing him even further, and lets go of his wrists to hold onto his hips. It’s permission to let go so he starts fucking into Mikey’s mouth. To his surprise Michael doesn’t restrain him, only holds himself stable and relaxes his throat. It’s too much and soon he’s nearly there. “I’m gonna come any second,” he grits out in warning. Mikey pops off but keeps jerking him with a hand, sticking his tongue out and opening his mouth, looking up at him with feverish excited eyes. The bite mark on his shoulder swollen and red. Sasha comes with a punched out groan, shooting his load over Mikey’s chin, cheek, and tongue. He wants to keep looking but each wave of his orgasm hits hard, makes his back arch and his eyes fall close. 

He’s reduced to dazed jelly in its wake and if Mikey had any plans on a mercy kill now would be the time to do it. He wouldn’t put a finger in between. Couldn't while he’s still blissed out. Michael straddles him over his stomach. He’s jerking himself off furiously. “You’re so hot when you come, Aleksandr,” he chokes out between ragged breaths. “― _leks_!” Mikey follows him over the edge, shooting long spurts of come over his chest and―to his disgust―on his face.

He makes a noise of displeasure at the come on his face, darts his tongue out to swipe some of his lips and grimaces. “That’s fucking gross,” he complains.

Michael laughs, tired and happy, and collapses over him. He kisses Sasha, not giving a shit about any come on their faces or in their mouths. “Oh come now,” he admonishes. “It’s not that bad is it?”

While he is grossed out by Michael’s come on his face he finds the taste of his own come in Michael’s mouth erotic. "I'll live,” he answers with a tired smile and strokes dark sweat soaked curls of hair out of Mikey’s face. They should probably shower. Their bodies are slick with sweat and rapidly cooling in the chilly air of the room but he finds that he doesn’t want to. Instead he grabs a corner of the messed up sheet and starts drying them off. “Let’s move over to my bed. This one's too soaked to sleep in.” 

Somehow the suggestion seems to make Mikey happy. Sasha can't fathom why. Either way he gets a brilliant smile and a quick kiss before Mikey rolls off him, helps him sit up and dry off. They sit side by side on the bed, feet over the edge, catching their breath. Michael is looking at the floor with a small smile, face caught in the yellow street light leaking in from behind the useless curtains. Sasha keeps stroking his dark hair behind his ear, and Mikey’s smile gets bigger with each gentle touch. The lighting hides it but it almost looks like he’s blushing. The muscles around his eyes are relaxed and soft in a way he hasn't seen in a long long while. It could just be post orgasmic satiation but he doesn’t think so. Sasha thinks he's looking at someone he thought he'd lost for good and it makes his heart take a leap. “Little boy Mikey…” he says with soft wonder in his voice. 

Michael laughs and gives him a skeptical look full of humour. “Little boy, my ass,” he protests and twists around grabbing Sasha under his legs and behind his back, then hoists him over his shoulder and stands up. Sasha laughs and lets himself be carried to the other bed. Michael struggles a bit under his weight but Sasha holds himself up in a way that eases it for Mikey. He feels like a little boy himself right now―lighthearted, playful and relaxed.

Michael drops him on the bed somewhat clumsily which can be forgiven considering that he weighs somewhere between 90 and 100 kilos. “Not so little now am I, sweetheart?” Mikey says looking so smug Sasha can't help but to laugh again and pull him down beside himself. 

“No. You grew up big and strong,” he concedes and ruffles Mikey’s hair playfully. Physically it's true at least. Mentally he's broken, but not right now and it's such a relief Sasha holds back the urge to hum a tune. He tucks Mikey into his chest in a position they can sleep in on the narrow bed. It’s a tight fit but they find a position that’s comfortable for the both of them to fall asleep in, Sasha spooning Michael, smiling and dragging his lips gently over the bite mark on Mikey’s shoulder. 

Michael’s breath slows down and grows deep and steady until Sasha thinks he's asleep. He doesn’t stop the gentle caress with his lips over the bite mark though, enjoying the stillness of the night. He startles when Michael speaks up. “You said it yourself, you’re my attack dog, not my bitch in heat. Of course you have a choice.”

“You promise that I always will have?”

Michael is quiet too long. The pause is telling in itself, it's a promise Mikey doesn’t want to give. “...Fine. I promise I will never force myself on you sexually,” he says at last sounding petulant and sulky.

Sasha chuckles. “Good. In that case chances are I won’t say no to what we just did,” he says, surprised that he means it. He has thought that he’s grown tired of sex entirely, but maybe it's just sex without feelings. He’s not turned on by Michael but Michael can turn him on. There’s a difference and he thinks he needs to think about that. There’s a whole range of things this ‘incident’ has revealed that he probably should think about at some point. Not right now. Philosophy isn’t his strong suit. The only thing that matters right now is that in all this madness they’re granted a moment of sanity and peace. 

As he himself begins to drift into sleep, lulled by Mikey’s soft not quite snores, the last conscious thoughts he has is that Michael is starved for physical closeness and that is something he should remember for tactical advantages. Fuzzily he reflects that he’s just as starved for emotional closeness and he needs to be careful or he'll get caught in his own web. Then sleep claims him.

* * *

They head home the next day. Michael acts as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened. Maybe for him, nothing did. But he does retain a certain calm and content aura around him. His impulse control is much better. He makes no more moves to seek sexual gratification from Sasha during the days it takes to drive back home. Although he does book a hotel room with a double bed and skip out on the booze the day before they're set to return. 

As they go to bed Mikey seems nervous. He keeps to his own side, but fidgets, tosses and turns once they cut the lights. Sasha deliberates about what to do. “You gonna stay over there and flop like a fish all night, or you gonna scoot your ass over here,” he grouses at last, guessing Michael’s need.

Mikey chuckles ruefully, but comes, throwing a leg and an arm over Sasha, settling his head on his shoulder. 

Sasha pets his hair absentmindedly. His other hand trails soft fingers along Mikey’s spine and shoulder. "That's better. Maybe we'll get some actual sleep now,” he says, still in a grumpy tone of voice. It’s an act though. Michael had relaxed as soon as he was molded to his side and that in turn made Sasha relax contentedly. It worried him to a degree that he’s become so attuned to Mikey’s mood swings and needs. It is good that he can read him so much better now, and Mikey’s developing need for him is better for his safety. What worries him is that his own mood has started to shift along with Michael’s and the last thing he needs is to develop a codependent relationship with someone so unstable with so much power over him. He pushes those thoughts out of his mind as Mikey snuggles closer and begins to doze off. It’s a problem for another day. 

Michael drops Sasha off by his house and Sasha’s first order of business is to review the recordings from Anna's house from the time they've been gone. Fast forwarding through the footage he’s relieved to see that nothing noteworthy has happened. Anna hasn’t spoken to anyone on the phone and has barely left the house. She’s mostly just slept, eaten, and watched TV. She’s had problems with nausea and headaches but that wasn't new. She'd eaten far more than usual, Sasha put it down to depression. From what he sees, now it's just waiting for her to die left. He wonders why he finds that so depressing. He calls Douglas to report on Anna's state and ask for advice on dosages. Doug thinks that he should stop the poisoning altogether, certain they've passed the point of no return and despite the likelihood that anyone would suspect murder it's better to rid the house of any proof. 

He brings groceries to Anna and she's thrilled to have him back. He thinks she suspects that he’s cheated on her because she doesn't ask where he’s been and what he’s done. It hits him that he hasn't checked himself for marks that will tell on him. His and Michael’s rough and tumble had been quite rough after all. He thinks about it and decides that he doesn’t care if he does have tell tale marks on his skin. 

_Let her know. This is the last stage. Time to kill the last embers of her spirit._

He is surprised to find that she's gained weight. Her skin is gloomy, her hair lusterless, and she has dark circles under her eyes, but her ribs are no longer as prominent. She’s hungry all the time and has odd cravings. He’s really fucking alarmed by it. “Are you sure you're not pregnant, little red?”

“I don’t think so. I mean, I haven't tested again since you left,” she answers uncertainly. 

He goes out to buy new sticks for her to pee on but they still come back negative. Just to be sure he calls Doug again. 

“That’s not the usual way my subjects have responded but once the cancer starts spreading there's no telling how or what it will affect so you can relax, Aleksandr. Most likely it's her thyroid gland that's affected, and depression is also a huge factor when it comes to weight gain. I wouldn't wait too long to take her to the hospital though if you want her to die there. After new year's perhaps? Keep me posted on her symptoms. If they continue to diverge from earlier case studies I'll fly in to set up a temporary practice you can bring her to for a check up.”

“She’s just a simple job, Бог брат,” Sasha points out, stressing Doug’s title. It seems a bit over the top for him to get so involved. 

Doug chuckles warmly. “Aleksandr, you forget that I _designed_ the serum you've been giving her. All earlier human testing have either been done in closed lab environments or not even remotely as controlled settings on the field as Anna's case. I'm itching to do a thorough examination of her.”

He can understand that. Douglas is a scientist first and foremost, that's what connected them in the first place when Doug was a child. 

So he tucks a part of himself back into the furthest corners of his mind and endures the charade of playing house with Anna. She’s not very demanding at this stage―too tired, depressed, ridden by pain and nausea as she is. And still he prefers the time he gets to spend with a madman. He thinks maybe that makes him the maddest of them all.

* * *


	43. On Thin Ice...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> December 2011. It's not always easy trying to figure out what goes on inside the head of Michael. The roles he assigns Sasha keeps shifting back and forth so Sasha has trouble keeping up. But sometimes it's nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:**  
>  \- Panic attack
> 
>  **Notes:**  
>  This I suppose is what counts as fluff in the world of Sasha and Michael.
> 
> Also, happy new year!  
> This chapter was edited while I'm drunk on champagne. But I was told I'm allowed to blame someone else. ;) (You know who you are.)

* * *

**2011**

* * *

December

There’s a knock on his door and Sasha puts down his book with a frown but makes no move to go open it. Instead he checks his gun and waits, listens.

A moment later keys rattles in his lock, then he hears the door open. “You’re supposed to come and open! Let’s try again shall we?” Mikey yells, then the door closes and the lock clicks shut. Then there’s another knock on the door.

Sasha raises his eyebrows in bemusement, holsters his gun, and goes to open.

Mikey’s standing outside with a cheeky grin. He’s dressed for prolonged outdoor stay in this weather, all white again except for a red knitted cap with a big yarn tassel on top. He has one pair of ice skates slung over his shoulder and another pair in his hand. He raises his free hand and does a little finger waggling wave. “Good morning, Aleksandr. Wanna go skating?”

Sasha looks at the skates and then at Mikey’s grinning face. “Can’t say that I do,” he answers in sceptical bemusement.

“Too bad, croat. You’re coming with. Get dressed and get out here,” Michael chirps, grin turning shiteating, and drops the pair of skates he’s been holding at Sasha’s feet.

Nothing to do but obey, Sasha does what he’s told. It’s 9:30 in the morning and the weather is beautiful. Everything is covered by snow and the sky is impossibly blue. As far as Anna knows Sasha is at work and will be home around 6 PM. He’s playing at having office hours just so he can be alone, but he can’t deny Michael, especially since he used Sasha’s title rather than name.

Geared up and wearing sunshades he grabs the skates and follows Mikey to his car. Seated shotgun Sasha bites his lip. He’s somewhere between trepidation, annoyance, and curiosity. “Was I really the only one you could coax to go skating with you?” he says, tone dry.

Mikey chuckles, conscientiously using his blinkers while turning despite being the only one in sight. “Nope. Why? You don’t like to skate?”

“I’ve never done it before.”

“ _Really_?” Mikey sounds and looks absolutely delighted at this revelation. “You want to borrow my helmet? Got it in my trunk. Unless you’re too cool for that.”

Sasha snorts. “I’m never too cool for protection against a cracked skull.”

“I'm glad. This is going to be great! Don't worry, I'll teach you. It’s not that hard…” Mikey is shining with such enthusiasm that it's hard not to be swept up in it. He talks nonstop while driving which eases Sasha’s trepidation somewhat. He wonders why Mikey (and Lucifer) skates in their free time when they work with it daily. But then again, he enjoys part of what’s his work when he’s free too so maybe it isn’t odd.

Down by the lake with the skates and helmet on, standing by the edge of the ice the apprehension comes back full force. Mikey removes his skate guards and takes a little leap onto the ice with obvious glee and skates away full career then takes a tight turn almost lying down, touching the ice with one hand. He comes flying back and stops sharply, spraying Sasha with ice shavings. Sasha sputters and dusts himself off. Michael sniggers. "Come on, Aleksandr. What are you waiting for? Spring?”

Sasha scowls at him. “Are you sure it's safe? Shouldn't we have ice picks? Rope maybe? Floating devices?” He’s begun to sweat faintly and his skin feels a bit numb.

“Are you kidding me, Aleksandr?” Mikey―the utter asshole―laughs. “It’s -10°C degrees out, midwinter, the ice is at least 60 centimeters thick, clear and blue. You could drive a 25 ton truck on it. It's tested daily by experts.”

Sasha’s feels light headed and he's got pins and needles in his limbs. He looks out over the lake. “I don’t know, Michael. I'm not sure if it’s a good idea. Doesn’t running water weaken ice? There’s a waterfall connected to this lake…”

“Yeeeah,” Mikey says slowly like Sasha has just explained that cows wears dresses and dance hopscotch on Sundays. Like he’s not making any sense whatsoever by pointing out these very _logical_ safety hazards. “But it’s been frozen solid for a month, both the fall leading into the lake and the one leading out of it,” he answers with his brows drawn down in bemusement. Suddenly his eyebrows fly up in realisation and he smacks a hand over his mouth before doubling over laughing. 

“What’s so fucking funny?”

“My god! You’re _afraid_! Aleksandr ‘the Immoral’ Chaadayev is afraid,” Michael wheezes out between laughter. 

“It’s _not_ funny, Michael! Stop laughing. And stop with that ridiculous nickname. I'm very much mortal and in no hurry to prove it! Even ice that appears safe can break and you can get sucked under, or the ice can slam right back together and fucking decapitate you. Your body can go into shock from the cold and your heart stop. Or―for god’s sake, stop laughing!” For every additional risk Sasha’s mentioned Michael just laughed harder and he's now leaning on his knees just trying to get air to his lungs. He’s got fucking tears running down his cheeks. If he laughs any harder he will pee himself. “I'm warning you, Mikey. You don’t stop laughing all rules be damned, I _will_ throw a punch.”

Mikey tries to collect himself but just starts laughing again when he regains his breath. 

“That’s it. I don't have to take this. I'm out of here.” Sasha turns to leave but Mikey kicks into gear and is suddenly standing in is way, lips twitching as he tries to subdue his mirth. He grabs Sasha’s shoulders to keep him still. 

“I'm sorry, Aleksandr. But you got to understand how funny it is that _you_ of all people are afraid. We send you head first into danger all the time and you go without batting an eyelash.” Mikey shakes his head with a rueful smile. “Trust me, Aleksandr. It’s safe. We’re at a part of the lake that is shallow a long way out. It's frozen to the bottom at least 50 meters from the shore. Come on. I'll be there with you all the time.”

Sasha grunts but allows himself to be turned back towards the ice. He holds onto Mikey while he removes the skate guards, then gingerly steps onto the ice. He might be bruising Michael’s arm through the thick jacket with how hard his grip is. “You’re doing good, Aleksandr. Real good. A little bit further now…”

_The soft white ice whines and makes weird noises. His feet are cold and wet from the slush covering the ice, more leaking through his run down shoes with every step he takes. He’s almost there. His brother is waiting somewhere on the other shore. If he could just go a bit faster… but it's too slippery and he’s stiff from the cold…_

”Doing really good, Aleksandr. See? It’s perfectly safe. If you look down now you can even _see_ the bottom through the ice. All the way down and not a drop of unfrozen water. The worst thing that can happen is that you fall. I'll catch you if you do.” Michael’s voice is an encouraging constant. Sasha’s leaning forward, his skates bending outward like on a five year old skating. But Mikey doesn’t mock.

_It’s begun to snow. This time of year, mid spring, it thaws and freezes and rains and snows. He’s numb and miserable. The snow melts on his face and neck and drips cold tendrils inside his clothes. But soon he'll be with Evgeny on the other side. His brother will take care of him. He'd been good. Done what Evgeny asked of him._

_*CRAAAACK*_

_His heart thunders in his chest when the ice suddenly gives way under his feet. He flails, falls backwards and hits his head. Everything goes black._

_….He wakes up. His whole body is screaming in pain and cold. He can't breathe. It’s dark except for a faint light coming from above, growing fainter as he sinks deeper. Panic sets in. He kicks frantically to get back up, making it back. But he hits his head on the ice, searches with his hands for an opening. There is none. Air is running out, his strength waning, his vision starts going black at the edges and he can no longer move his arms. Icy cold water rushes his lungs as the last air escapes them. It hurts. He’s sinking again. Below him there’s only bottomless darkness._

_Suddenly he's pulled upward by his collar. Barely conscious he breaks the surface, being hoisted onto the ice. But it’s too late. He has no strength left. The blackness sucks him in._

_Next thing he knows he's coughing up water and gulping down air in his lungs. It hurts as much as breathing the water had done in the first place. Someone's talking to him, voice somewhere between annoyance and amusement. “Now, now, stupid little boy. I didn’t save your life just so you could go drown yourself a couple of years later.” Then there’s the taste of blood in his mouth. Warmth is spreading through his body, making it stings and tingle. Strength returns. He opens his eyes. He’s alone on the shore, no footprints around him. He’s soaked through and his clothes are starting to crust as the water freezes. He hears his brother’s frantic calls for him in the distance…_

“Hey, hey. Take deep breaths. I'm here. I'm here. Just breathe with me, Aleksandr. I've got you. I'm not going anywhere.” Michael is in front of him now, up close and slightly bent with his face upward, trying to look Sasha in the eyes. Sasha’s jacket zipper has been opened halfway down his chest to cool him down. One of Mikey’s hands is wiping sweat off his face continuously, the other holding onto his arm to keep him stable. He is sweating buckets. He holds Mikey’s gaze as his words start to make sense again, and when they do he takes a deep breath. Then another. Mikey smiles encouragingly at him. “There you are. That’s it, Aleksandr. Just breathe. I’m here. I won’t go anywhere. Just focus on me.” 

The touch and the voice is grounding. Michael is calm, patient, soothing―a rock. He radiates safety, a shelter in the storm, like nothing bad can happen as long as he’s there. With sudden clarity Sasha realises Michael’s never directed this side of himself at Sasha. He’s seen Mikey like this before. This is what he is to his brothers. This is big brother Mikey. The one who always knows what to do, who acts the big brother even to the older ones, who keeps peace and comforts, puts his own needs and wants second place. “Forgive me. I don’t know what happened,” Sasha says. He’s no longer sweating or feeling like he’s going to vomit. He’s still lightheaded and his arms and legs feels like jelly.

“No worries. You had a panic attack. You’re one brave fucker, you know that? Should have told me we were talking phobia level fear. I’m real proud of you for getting on the ice to begin with. Here,” Mikey says and digs a packet of dextrose out of one of the many pockets in his jacket. He cuts it open with his thumbnail and raises the packet up to Sasha’s mouth, pushing two pieces of dextrose into Sasha’s mouth when he obediently opens it. It reminds Sasha of Pez dispensers and makes him think of Castiel. “In case your adrenaline burned through your blood sugar. Wouldn’t want you to collapse from hypoglycemia.”

The sugar affects him almost instantly, making him less lightheaded and calmer. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Michael’s holding on to him and has begun to skate backwards, pulling Sasha along. Another proof it’s big brother Mikey at work. The Божја браћа were not allowed to avoid their fears. Their upbringing, training, all went into helping each other get through unpleasant things―not stop them from happening. While it was common knowledge amongst Croatoans that the Божја браћа were blood thirsty bastard trained in torture since childhood, most didn’t know that they had all been _subjected_ to torture as well. So that they would fully understand the power of pain. Those lessons were conducted by _Otac_ himself, with an older Божја браћа there to comfort and steady the brother subjected to the lesson. Of course, none of those lessons were of a kind that left lasting physical marks. Possibly a few non-crippling scars at most. Since Sasha was one of those teachers who gave lessons in the cellars he’d by mistake witnessed it once. One small child tied up on a bench, another sitting by his head, holding his shoulders down and murmuring ‘ _Shhh. It'll be over soon. Just hold on a little while longer,_ ’ while _Otac_ did something to make the boy scream. Nauseated Sasha had hurried along to the room he was supposed to be in. What Michael figuratively was doing now was holding Sasha’s shoulders down and murmuring encouragements, asking for absolute trust.

Sasha gives it.

“I don’t think I’ve had a panic attack like that before,” Sasha mutters and pushes away with the skates to gain some speed. “Although, when you parachuted me into Yugoslavia during the war I screamed like a baby during the fall and lay flat hugging the ground once we landed. It was a good thing it was a tandem jump. I was so terrified I don’t think I’d be able to figure out how to release the parachute,” he tells Mikey with a self-deprecating smile, keeping his focus on everything but the fact that they’re getting further and further out on the ice, leaving the area that’s bottom frozen.

Mikey chuckles. “And yet you jumped.”

“The alternative route would have been more dangerous. Flying made more sense. Hurdling towards the ground at breakneck speed? Not so much,” Sasha says with a chuckle of his own, relaxing a bit more. The sweat drying starts to make him feel cold so he carefully lets go of Mikey with one hand and pulls his jacket zipper up again.

“That’s the only time you’ve parachuted?”

“No. I’ve done it a couple of more times. It never stops being scary, but that’s the only time I was too terrified for coherent thoughts. I went code black, if you get what I’m sayin?”

Mike gives him a smile. “Mh. Like I said, you’re brave. I’m proud of you. You’re doing great.” It’s weird to hear Mikey say it. ‘ _I’m proud of you_ ’. It’s always been the other way around, Sasha saying it when Mikey did well with his lessons. His backbone reaction is to scoff and wave it off, but fear reduces a man to the mind of a child and a child needs to hear it so he keeps his quiet and soaks it in. He’s doing good. This is a very minor accomplishment, just gliding along holding onto Michael, unstable legs and no real grip on how to steer by himself. But it is an accomplishment.

It takes a while, but in the end Sasha skates around by himself, Mikey whizzing by him, skating around him. A couple of times he falls. The first times Mikey catches him, then he just helps him up the next times. Bruises are no bother to Sasha anyway. At one point a truck drives over the ice on the other side of the lake and the ice sings like it does during night. It’s an eerie sound as if you shake a big metal sheet. Sasha’s heart starts beating madly but before he has time to freak out Mikey’s there, up close and personal―almost nose to nose―calming him.

All goes well. He’s actually beginning to have some fun. Gaining speed and learning how to turn “smoothly” (in comparison to when they started). There’s just one little thing…

“This is great, Michael. Really. Except…” Sasha calls to Michael while closing in on him.

“Except what?” 

Mikey turns around to face his direction at the same time as Sasha comes flying straight into him in a jarring collision that knocks the wind out of Mikey and sends them both sprawling, Sasha on top. Luckily Sasha gets an arm behind Michael and instead of cracking on the ice Mikey’s head lands on Sasha’s cuppen hand, slamming it onto the ice hard enough to make his knuckles bleed. Sasha’s helmet bangs on Mikey’s lip in the landing. For a moment they lie completely still while Michael tries to suck air back into his lungs. “Except how do you stop?” Sasha says at last and struggles to get on all fours.

“That’ll do it,” Michael deadpans. They blink at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter, Sasha collapsing back onto Mikey’s chest. Once they’ve collected themselves and managed to get into a sitting position Mikey spots Sasha’s bleeding knuckles. “Maybe you should get some ice on that,” he says which sets them off laughing again. It’s such a release from the crippling fear he’d experienced earlier so maybe he laughs a little harder than the joke merits, but who cares. Good times.

Later they’re sitting in the snow looking out over the lake. Mikey fetched their boots and a cool box from the car, but instead of ice packs it held heat packs, a thermos with hot cocoa, and newly baked scones with butter on. The scones have retained most of their warmth and the butter in the middle has melted. Sasha gets his skates off with a discontent muttering. “This is shit. I can barely feel my feet.”

Mikey snort-chuckles. “Don’t be such a big baby. Hold on.” He moves from his place to sit by Sasha’s feet and pulls them up to lie in his lap. Then he starts rubbing them―alternating between them―to get some warmth back in them.

“ _Michael,_ ” Sasha whines in half hearted protest (but doesn’t remove his feet).

“Shut up and eat your scones,” Mikey says with an amused smirk, eyes locked on Sasha’s feet while he works.

“Did you make them?”

“Don’t be silly. I got them at the bakery.”

“They don’t have scones at the bakery,” Sasha refutes grimaces as his feet begin to ache when warmth returns to them. He takes a bite of the scone. 

“They do when the Angels’ captain comes in and asks for it,” Mikey smirks smugly and gives him a wink.

Sasha chuckles. What Mikey wants, Mikey gets. He sips his cocoa and looks out over the lake. The ice reflects the blue sky like a mirror. The sun is almost blinding with the snow and ice reflecting it. It’s a good thing he brought his sunshades. Once Mikey’s finished working warmth into Sasha’s feet he unprompted proceeds to put Sasha’s boots on for him, lacing them tight and habitually. Sasha follows his proceedings with bemusement. Once again Sasha realises he’s seen this before, many, _many_ times back at the Heart. Mikey rubbing Lucifer’s feet after hockey practise and lacing his boots on for him while Lucifer whined about not getting a shot right or how someone in the team being an idiot. (Briefly he wonders if this is something they still do as adults―when they’re on speaking terms that is.) Back then just as now Mikey radiated a quiet content calm like it was all he wanted from life. 

Maybe it is.

It’s strange― _what-the-fuck_ level strange―to be the one subjected to the big brother Mikey treatment. Sasha’s not sure how he feels about it. Being taken care of this way… It’s odd. His siblings, Evgeny and Irina, they took care of him more than their mother did, but still it was never even near the level the Божја браћа doted on each other. He’s not sure if it’s a good thing. Out on the ice it was, but now? He doesn’t know what to make of it.

He pours a cup of cocoa and holds it out to Mikey, patting the snow beside him. Whatever the conclusion is, he’s having a rather good time. Mikey comes to sit beside him, takes the cup and gives him a playful shove. Yes indeed. All in all, this will go down as one of the happy days in his life.

* * *


	44. Christmas Showdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> December 24th, 2011. Sasha's just trying to have a nice Christmas. How hard can it be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep. It's still new years, I'm still drunk on champagne and can't be trusted to read or write proper English. And yet here I am, editing away and publishing. ^^
> 
> Also, this was supposed to be posted on Christmas Eve. But I wasn't finished with the previous chapter yet by then so....

* * *

**2011**

* * *

December 24th

Mikey’s playing twenty questions and Sasha’s skin is itching in discomfort. He wants to just get up and leave. Tell Michael to go fuck himself. Better yet―throw a punch. Put that insolent brat demanding answers from him into his place.

 _Now_ that’s _a thought. Rough him up and get his head screwed on right again._

It’s December 24th, afternoon. Michael had called and demanded his presence, tearing him away from a rather nice Christmas with Anna. He doesn’t celebrate Christmas often. It’s a family holiday after all, or a religious one. Not like New Year’s that’s more adapted to be celebrated by ‘his kind’―lonely people living on the fringes. Lovers to the Mistress Death, celebrating another year of escaping eternal marriage to her. (There he goes again, being too philosophical.) He’d seen Christmas celebrated all over the world, observed the different traditions but rarely partaken.

The times he _had_ partaken, he’d enjoyed it a lot. One year he’d been invited to spend three days over Christmas at a colleague’s―Auðunn Friðþjófsson―home in Iceland along with Auðunn’s (extended) family. It had been great. In ‘98 he’d had the fortune to be stationed at the Heart during Christmas. Back then none of the Божја браћа had died yet, all the uncles had come to visit and so had the oldest of the brothers. The whole house was full of rambunctious teenagers and boys making or buying presents for each other, decorating, goofing off and stealing sweets from the cooks. Him and the other teachers had been invited to join the dinner on Christmas Eve (unlike the Croatoans that were stationed there as security). It’s a treasured memory. The Sin-Božji family didn’t follow American traditions exclusively. They stole ideas from every part of the world where their empire reached, as much as they stole everything else. The abundance and variations of Christmas food was staggering. 

December in the Sin-Božji household, back then at least, was a month full of games and gayeity. The tension Sasha had felt when he visited the Heart back in May didn’t exist yet. He remembers being bitten by the Christmas bug. He was inspired and constructed a wooden calendar for each of the boys he was currently teaching. Each day in time for their lesson they got to open a hatch that dictated what they were going to do. In some hatches there were tests, games, other more conventional lessons, both indoor and outdoor activities. The hatches weren’t numbered so it became a game of chance―made the boys excited and anticipatory. He added lessons that were outside of his “official” expertise too (with _Otac’s_ blessing). One of the most fun ones involved battle tactics where the object was to capture one of the security Croatoans but utilizing snowballs and whatever non-lethal traps you could set with snow. It’d been hilarious. Sasha had also happily involved himself in making Christmas decorations, “helping” the cooks bake (and done some heavy flirting), hanging new curtains, stringing up lights, and other things that normally wasn’t part of his life.

So, he thought, now he had a house and a girlfriend, why not take the opportunity to actually celebrate Christmas for once? Yesterday he’d gone all Clark Griswold on Anna’s house, decorating both the exterior of the house and the two trees in the garden with strings of light. He was exceptionally proud of the trees. It had taken hours and felt like he’d attached millions of tiny lights to the branches and tree trunks. But the result was beautiful. Anna and him had bundled up in winter clothes and blankets in the evening and sat outside on the porch talking, drinking Glühwein and eating ginger snaps while enjoying the work he’d put in. Passing neighbours had offered compliments on the trees and Anna had been glowing joyfully all evening.

Today he’d gone out to cut a spruce tree for them. When Mikey called and _demanded_ he come to work they’d been making popcorn strings to decorate the tree with. Anna had been disappointed that he had to go of course, and Sasha, he is **not** a happy camper right now.

“Oy!” Mikey kicks him on the shin. “I asked you a question, croat. Are you even listening to me?”

Sasha grunts and gives Michael a flat stare. “No, Sir.” He’s out of line and he knows it. But so is Michael right now. Sasha had pieced it together the moment he laid eyes on Mikey. Purplish bruise on the cheekbone, small cut on his brow, bruises on his knuckles. Nothing really serious. Except for the mad, paranoid glaze in his eyes and his twitchy temper. So he and Lucifer had come to blows again. During Christmas. 

_And isn’t that just fantastic?_

“You better watch it, croat,” Michael warns. And he’s right. Sasha should be treading _very_ carefully right now. But he’s worn out and spread too thin to have patience for this crap. The wrong kind of self-preservation kicked in, the kind that guards his integrity rather than his life. “What were you thinking about, anyway, that is so important that you ignore a Бог брат?”

Sasha stares blankly up at him. He’s lying on the pull out couch in the basement, Mikey sitting as close as he can come in one of the office chairs. It’s a bad implication that the couch is in its bed state and had been used while Sasha was away. The screens behind Michael shows that Anna decided to keep making Christmas christmasy despite him having to take off. Inwardly that makes him smile in satisfaction, outwardly he keeps his face blank, but lets some of his disgruntlement shine through. “I was making popcorn strings with Anna to decorate our tree when you ordered me to come. That’s where my thoughts are.”

He sees the anger flash in Michael’s eyes and it’s bad because he feels anger of his own flare up to challenge it. He hides it. Barely. “She’s supposed to _suffer_ and you’re giving her a nice little Christmas, making it all better. You’re not doing your job, croat,” Mikey sneers.

“No. I was giving _me_ a nice little Christmas, Бог брат,” Sasha growls back. “I’ve celebrated Christmas, what? Four or five times in my life? I enjoy it. I have a house and a girlfriend. I figured if I’m gonna be stuck playing house I might as well take full advantage of having a family for once. You can go home, celebrate with your brothers at the Heart. I _can’t_ because I forsworn my chance at that in your service when I was too young to care or know better.” The anger cracks into visibility with a scowl and a bitter twist to his lips as he spits the statement out. He blatantly ignores that he would be dead if it wasn’t for the Croatoan that recruited him.

 _But you can’t go home, now can you, Mikey boy? You’re too afraid Lucifer’s secret will be written on your face, that_ your _secret will be written on your face. And it will be, because you think so. Otac will know, like you fear. And only because you fear it._

So Michael, who’s in such dire need of his family, is stuck here, alone. Protecting Lucifer from _Otac’s_ madness despite Lucifer rejecting him. The thought does nothing to diminish Sasha’s cantankerousness. He’d picked up a couple of details that told him what’s really going on. His gut feeling had told him something was way off already when Mikey called. So he’s angry, bitter, and resentful.

Emotions flit freely over Michael’s features as Sasha speaks. It’s hard to read most of them, they’re gone too fast. The anger in his eyes remains. “We've never forbidden croats to get families. You wanted to get married and have kids you could've. And if you wanted stability there was lots of static positions, especially for someone of your rank.”

It doesn’t pass Sasha by that he talks in past tense, further confirming his suspicion. He sits up. “ _Could_ I? Could I really? Think about it!” He taps his head. “You don’t allow women to become Croatoans so I can’t choose a partner who lives the kind of life I live. I’d be putting a spouse in danger by my profession alone. Nevermind that the last woman to catch my interest enough to even think about wanting something more is _a fucking cop_. I made a vow to put the Sin-Božji above my own wants and those of my family if I ever got one. It’s on my fucking skin, you get what I’m sayin?” He slaps his arm where ‘ _Croatoan_ ’ is carved.

They glare at each other with deep scowls and nostrils flaring, the testosterone practically oozing from their pores. “Know your place, croat,” Michael sneers and kicks out, aiming for Sasha’s chest to send him sprawling backwards on the bed again. But Sasha is ready for it. He’s been ready for an attack since he came here and noted the syringe in Mikey’s back pocket, the hook mounted in the basement ceiling, the folded tarp hidden under the desk and the leather roll―where Mikey kept his knives―stashed under a pillow. Little tells about what was up that had thoroughly ruined his mood and confirmed his gut feeling.

But Mikey is unbalanced, in great emotional distress, doesn’t really want to follow through with his decision, _and_ has a deathwish as strong as Sasha’s wish to live. All that added up to him botchering his self-assigned job from the start. He should have syringed Sasha the moment he walked through the door―preferably with a dart gun. 

That doesn’t mean Sasha isn’t taking a huge risk when he grabs a hold of Mikey’s foot and pulls while kicking out both at the chair to make it tip over and at Mikey’s torso, aiming for his barely healed rib. Michael’s a great fighter with catlike reflexes and yet he’s a bit surprised at Sasha lashing out. Surprised or not, it doesn’t stop Sasha from getting a kick on the forehead, a couple of hits on the body, an elbow in his ribs and a very painful kick on his busted knee in the ensuing scuffle. But all in all those mistakes Michael had made and the other factors resulted in Sasha having Mikey pinned face down underneath him on the bed with Mikey’s arms twisted up behind him and head locked in a way that would result in him breaking his neck if he tried to squirm out of it.

The backside of this position is that Sasha can’t let go.

Not with somebody like Michael. He’s too fast and too dangerous. Since Sasha has no intention of killing him whatsoever (hence breaking his neck or biting the vein in his throat is out of the question) the only physical option to actually get away would be to slam his forehead into the back of Mikey’s head so he passes out but this angle? Didn’t offer much leverage to get enough force for that. Besides, he isn’t interested in the physical option because that would leave him a rogue.

For a moment everything is still except for the sound of their rough breathing, Michael’s is short and shallow as the grip he’s locked in doesn’t allow for deep breaths. His whole body is taut with both strain and outrage at Sasha’s defiance. “I can’t know my place, Mikey, because _you_ don’t know my place,” Sasha says at last. Mikey sucks in a breath as if to speak but Sasha won’t let him. “You forced this situation on us, Mikey. You demanded my friendship, demanded to have the only parts of me a Божја браћа isn’t entitled to yet you keep second guessing yourself and preventing us from finding a balance. Today you’ve been asking questions I’d only answer a friend but forcing me into the role of a Croatoan. Worse. You’ve treated me as a fucking _pawn_.”

Michael is listening, angry or not. That’s all Sasha is asking for, all he needs. He rests his head against Mikey’s, cheek against cheek, making it intimate. His intention is to soothe (and dominate), not harass, although it could be perceived either way. “I figured it out, Michael. I know what’s going on. You fought with Lucifer again, about Sam by my guess. You decided you couldn’t deny Lucifer what you yourself allow yourself but instead of letting your brother have Sam, even share him perhaps, you thought you had to set an example by doing what _Otac_ would order done if he knew, because you’re a good son. ...And by extension you’re being a very bad brother and a lousy friend.”

Mikey wriggles minutely and makes a frustrated face when he’s called a bad brother. “I _have_ to, Aleksandr. I need to keep Luci safe.”

“First off, no. You don’t have to. You just think you do and you’re not thinking clearly. Lucifer and Sam? Me and you? Not remotely the same situation. Lucifer is already under threat for having defied _Otac_ in a number of different ways. Sam has no affiliation or reason to be loyal to the _Porodica_. For Lucifer to rebel against _you_ we can only assume he’s in love. You on the other hand have been a poster boy for obedience since you were a child. The only times you’ve refused to obey it’s been for the good of your brothers, which isn’t exactly a sin. I, unlike Sam, am sworn and devoted to the cause of keeping you and your brothers safe and in power. We share that goal in common. Plus, you’re not in love with me. We’re just friends. Therefore, the worst thing that could happen to you is a breach of the confidence _Otac_ has in you. You’ll be under scrutiny for awhile but you’ll repair that trust soon enough.” He’s telling Mikey what he needs to hear, spinning his words to make Mikey see things his way. What Michael’s exact feelings for him are is hard to know, the Sin-Božjis’ affection and way of showing it is skewed to high heavens. That’s not important as long as Mikey realises he has better use of Sasha alive. “You have everything to gain if you accept that we _are_ friends. And I’m good at keeping secrets. Really, Mikey, what we’ve become only makes me more loyal.”

Michael has relaxed minutely, but is far from giving in yet. “This isn’t exactly a show of loyalty,” he gets out in a strained voice. Sasha wants to loosen his grip a bit to make it easier for Michael to talk, breathe, and swallow. But he doesn’t dare. Not yet.

“Oh, yes it is. Blind obedience does not equal loyalty. And think about it, Mikey. Do you honestly think I’d let you string me up and carve me to ribbons without resistance? For giving into circumstances _you_ forced upon us? No. I won’t do that. I aim to die old in bed remember? I’m not rogue, but if you don’t reconsider your decision I will knock you out and hightail out of here. You’ll lose a very valuable asset. And for what? It won’t help change Lucifer’s mind and keep him safer.” 

Lucifer is the key here. Sasha doesn’t know the adult Lucifer anywhere near as good as he did the younger version, but he was there when Lucifer’s dog was killed and Sasha can lie and tell stories along with the best of them. So he does. “Should Lucifer find out that you killed me for the reason you were planning it may have the opposite effect than what you want,” he says, having no clue as to the truth of the statement. He thinks Doug may ask why, some of the others too. Mikey could just lie about the circumstances of his death. But his inability to lie to _Otac_ is why they’re in this position now so… “If Lucifer sees that you can so easily do away with somebody you care for, it’ll ruin the trust he’s got left for you. The status quo between you is dependant on him thinking you will not harm his new baby. And if you off me that easily, how big a threat are you to Sam?... You’re his remaining link to the _Porodica_ , the only thing keeping him from full on rebellion even now while you’re not on speaking terms, is you. Think about it and you’ll see the truth of that.” 

_Please, please, little boy Mikey. Buy my bullshit._

Technically, it could be true. Mikey is relaxing even further, which is a good sign. “I know I’m not even remotely able to replace Lucifer, I don’t aspire to either. But you _do_ have a friend in me. You kill me you’d be losing a confidant, someone who knows what’s going on and can help you cope until you two patch it up. You’d be doing yourself a disfavour by offing me before it’s discovered, you get what I’m sayin?”

He feels the moment Mikey gives up. It’s like life just drains out of him and Sasha wants to sag in relief himself. He eases his grip and Michael’s arms and head falls limply to the bed. Sasha doesn’t move off him. He just relaxes his body, rests his head on Mikey’s shoulder, closes his eyes. A part of him keeps vigil, ready to spring back into action mode at the slightest movement. For a long time they’re just lying there. It’s hard to say for how long. Minutes perhaps. An eternity for sure.

“It’s how it’s going to happen. You know that right?” Michael says at last, voice tinged by sadness. While Sasha contemplates his answer Mikey goes on. “He’s going to make me watch, or make me do it… but it’ll be worse because I can’t reduce your pain or shorten the length of time before you die. I’m going to have to watch you be torn piece by piece, get every bone in your body broken and I won’t be able to stop it anymore than Luci could save that damned dog of his.”

“I'll take my chances. All I'm asking for is for you to not do anything until _Otac_ gives the order. Let me run before you hunt me.”

Michael squeezes his eyes shut and takes a couple of shuddering breaths. Sasha can see his lashes are wet. Michael is fighting tears and words cannot express how much Sasha _**hates** Otac_ right now. There’s no sanity in this, no gain, no reason. Lucifer has the right of it. 

“Mikey boy. Do you want to celebrate Christmas with me?”

Michael takes a couple of shuddering breaths more then nods. "Yes. I'd like that.”

Sasha rolls off him. “How about you go get us a tree and I go shopping and cook?”

“Sounds good. What can you make?” Mikey opens his eyes. His eyes are red from almost crying but he’s regaining his composure quickly. 

“What do you want?”

“Danish pork roast. You know with the crispy rinds on top? And the caramelised potatoes?”

Sasha smiles. The Sin-Božji Christmas dinner had food from all over the world. All of the brothers had their favourites. Sasha hadn’t tried the Danish stuff. There was just too much food. “I’m sure I can make it. Let me Google the recipe and then we'll get going.”

* * *

Sasha gets his Christmas at last. Mikey, once he regains his composure, dives into the preparations with great enthusiasm. Not that Sasha is fooled. Michael is still torn apart on the inside by the separation from his family and the fight with Lucifer. But when the house smells of glögg―mulled wine drunk in the nordic countries during Christmas―Christmas songs plays on the radio, candles are lit everywhere and the tree is set up in the living room both of them are in good spirits despite it all. The pork roast takes some time to make and Mikey sits in the kitchen making popcorn strings for the tree just like Anna and Sasha had done when Mikey called. It’s nice. Not that Sasha is able to fully relax. ‘Trust issues’ doesn’t begin to describe it. When Mikey sneaks up from behind and puts his arms around him while he is caramelising the potatoes he very nearly reacts by elbowing him. But Mikey just hugs him, plasters himself to his back. It’s a bit weird but once he figures out it isn’t an attack he relaxes and enjoys it. He wonders what Castiel is doing now. If he's celebrating Christmas. They hadn't when they were together in Russia. “Thank you,” Michael whispers and burrows his nose in his shoulder, inhaling deeply. 

“Don’t mention it.” He gives Mikey’s hand a squeeze. “Now can you hand me that bowl? These are done.”

* * *

It’s nearly midnight when they've eaten and are just sipping mulled wine on the couch, talking about nothing in particular when Michael takes something out of his pocket. “I got you a Christmas present.”

“When?” Sasha asks in surprise when Mikey hands over a small box with a wrinkled bow on it.

“Um… a couple of weeks ago?”

Sasha chuckles. “You came here to kill me and you brought a present?” he says dryly and arches an eyebrow. 

Michael gives him a shove. “Shut up. Like you said, I wasn't thinking clearly. Besides, it's just something stupid. A ploy thing. Now open it.”

He does. Inside the box there’s a broad ring with several metals layered like a rainbow. Silver, brass, copper, and at least four more that he can't name straight away. One of the metal stripes feel slightly warm to the touch. “It’s beautiful. How's this a ploy thing?”

Michael rubs the back of his head. “Well. Remember that spooky job we did where you suddenly hightailed it out for no reason and the guy got torn to pieces in an empty room?”

“Yeah?”

“So I was driving aimlessly one day and passed a run down store in the middle of nowhere. It was called ‘Hunters of the Haunted’ and it made me think of that job. I got curious and went inside. It was one of those weird stores where they sell new age stuff but mixed with Halloween crap. Real odd mix. Plastic skeletons, incense, silver bullets, brass daggers, herbs, costumes. Just… weird.”

“Okay?”

“Anyway, I was looking around when the shop owner approached me and asked if I was looking for anything in particular. I said I was looking for a present for a friend of mine that's a hunter. I mean, you _are_. You’re the very essence of one, right?” Michael says, gesturing at Sasha with his palm up and raised eyebrows. 

“...Right,” Sasha answers, dragging out the word and lilting his tone upwards to a question, sensing there's something more to it that Michael is getting at.

“So he asked what you were hunting. I was thinking of the job we did considering the name of the store and about what kind of people we usually have you kill or capture. Now, I couldn't exactly tell _him_ that. So I said you hunted the monsters that lurk in the dark, the kind most people never even knows exists in the world and only see in movies. It’s true, right? I meant it as a joke but the guy just nods like he took me dead seriously. He asked what kind of monsters. I humoured him by saying you never knew in advance, and sometimes you don’t even know while you hunt.” Michael grins. “By then I was fighting not to crack up laughing but the guy just nods along all serious. Then he said he had the perfect gift and showed me the ring. Said this ring could help you determine what you were facing.”

Michael chortles. “Okay. This guy was nuts. He took me literally. See,” he leans towards Sasha and points at the metal ring. “This metal burns the skin of werewolves, this one shifters, this one vampires, this one demons, this one will glow when it comes in contact with the skin of a djinn. I don't remember the rest. But the thought is that if you shake hands with someone and it burns their hand they're not human and you can know what they are depending on which metal they burned themselves on.”

“ _Ooo_ -kay,” Sasha says with sceptical amusement. Michael laughs. 

“I know, right? This guy really believed in it. Hilarious. But who knows? Maybe one day you'll shake someone’s hand and _tssss_.”

“You don’t really believe that crap do you?” Sasha says but nevertheless puts the ring on.  
Mikey snorts. "Of course not. But I wanted to give you something personal that you can carry with you easily. You already have a mixed metal necklace so I thought they'd go good together.”

Sasha smiles. “They do.” Not only for the aesthetic reason, but for the care he holds for the givers. “What’s a shifter?”

“Hell if I know,” Mikey answers with an amused grin. “But should it ever work be sure to tell me.”

Later they’re watching some late night Christmas movie and Mikey crawls on top of him without warning. Sasha finds himself caught up in an impromptu lazy make out session that isn't aimed to be anything other than that. It still feels a bit weird to be kissing Michael like this. But he doesn’t really mind and as Christmases go this turned out to be a rather good one.

* * *


	45. Unexpected visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anna has been hospitalised and Sasha is in her house removing any evidence of foul play when Mikey suddenly shows up, acting strange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings: GOOGLE TRANSLATE TRANSLATED RUSSIAN!**  
>  Really. If you know Russian, feel free to share the correct translations and I'll fix it.
> 
>  **Notes:**  
>  I've moved the last chapter I published before this (bucket list experience) back to be chapter 38. I'll probably end up rearranging some more later on to get chapters in order. Also, there will be a couple of Anna chapters I've held back writing that will come later, when I feel like writing them. For now I'm all about the boys.

* * *

**2012**

* * *

Late January

Sasha is combing through Anna’s house, removing hidden cams and any other proof that might indicate foul play, should anyone look into Anna’s death once she kicks the bucket. She’s been hospitalized for a week now and she won’t be returning home ever again. He’s done downstairs and heads upstairs. He clears the bathroom and hallway first. He enters the bedroom and heads straight for Anna’s nightstand. He opens the drawer and takes out the packet of painkillers that has been laced with poison, counting the pills in the blister strip. He replaces them with a blister strip from another packet, making sure it contains the same amount of pills first. Should anyone take samples, they’ll find nothing off. The floorboards unexpectedly creaks behind him. He draws his gun and spins around.

Michael is standing in the doorway with his hands outstretched in surrender, a playful smirk on his lips. “I come in peace,” he says, humour clear in his voice.

Sasha lowers his gun and scowls at him. “If you keep sneaking up on me like that, you’ll end up _resting_ in peace instead,” he says and holsters his gun. One day his trigger finger will be faster than his mind. Sneaking up on him is never a good idea.

“Come now. I’m unarmed. You wouldn’t shoot an unarmed man, would you?” Mikey jokes with an impish grin.

Sasha’s lips twitch in amusement. They both know Sasha wouldn’t hesitate to kill, weapons or no weapons. However… “You _are_ a weapon, Бог брат.” 

Michael’s grin turns shit-eating. His eyes are full of playful mischief and Sasha finds himself returning it. He has no idea what Mikey is doing here, but something has the Бог брат radiating positive vibes. “Mmh. That’s true enough,” Mikey agrees.

“What are you doing here, Mikey?” Sasha asks, putting the pack of poisoned painkillers in his messenger bag.

“Это последний раз, когда вы и я ступил в этом доме, теперь, когда Анна не вернется. Хочу отметить это,” Mikey says, switching to Russian, still smiling, but now his eyes turns sharp and anticipatory.  
( _It’s the last time you and I will ever set foot in this house, now that Anna won’t come back. I want to celebrate it._ )

“Celebrate?” Sasha asks, not sure what Mikey is up to.

Mikey smirks, licks his lips and gives Sasha a very explanatory once over. As if that wasn’t clear enough, he gives the bed a meaningful look, before looking back at Sasha, throwing him a playful wink. He bites his lip, cocks his head to the side, crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the doorway.

And this is still so strange to Sasha. Mikey will seek touch fairly often, and he can predict Mikey’s need for touch fairly well. That is the other form of touch. Sitting curled under Sasha’s arm on the couch, or legs slung over his lap, a squeeze of an arm or shoulder, a pat on the knee, or anything along those lines. Platonic. This? There’s no predicting this. Since Christmas Mikey has initiated makeout sessions three times, and sex (frottage) twice. It’s not often, and when he does, it’s always with no warning. The only warning Sasha has gotten before sex happened has been the mad gleam in his eyes that spoke of blood fever. This was just as random as any time before but even more strange, because normally Mikey would just be striding right up to him, giving him about a second to figure out that he wanted sex and was not initiating a fight. Now he was being playful and fucking _flirty_. It’s not like him. It must be serving a purpose. 

_What do you want, Mikey boy? What are you after?_

It’s also contagious, the playful vibe he’s projecting. Sasha puts down his bag on the floor, slowly removes his latex gloves and drops them on the bag, bemused smile twitching on his lips. Michael studies him, tongue running along his teeth under his lips. Then he sighs almost theatrically and raises a hand to look at his nails. “Но если вы не заинтересованы...”  
( _But if you’re not interested…_ ) Then he looks up at Sasha from under his lashes with an expression of amused challenge.

_It’s a game? A test? You want me to take the lead? But why?_

The Russian is out of character too. Mikey speaks it fluently, but rarely uses it when he talks to Sasha, answering in English when Sasha speaks Russian. Unless he wants people around them not to understand. But they’re alone now…

It doesn’t matter. 

The fact is, the flirtiness holds some allure. He’ll play. Why the fuck not? What Mikey wants, Mikey gets.

Sasha puts on a lopsided smirk and puts his hands in his pockets, thumbs sticking out to draw attention to his crotch. He slowly walks towards Mikey, using a cocky swagger. “Отсутствие интереса вряд ли является проблемой, Бог брат,” he says and eyes Mikey appreciatively up and down. ( _Lack of interest is hardly a problem,_ Бог брат.) On impulse he follows up on the playful vibe―daring to―since Mikey had only been acting like a superior if they worked together, and been acting like a friend the rest of the time since their Christmas showdown. “Довольно мало возлюбленной, как ты, это вызывает достаточно, чтобы отметить, если вы спросите меня.” ( _A pretty little sweetheart like yourself, is cause enough to celebrate, if you ask me._ )

 _That_ should have caused an outrage of proportions, had they still been caught in their old dynamics, like they should. Instead Mikey’s eyes bug for a second. He lets out an incredulous laugh and slaps his hand over his mouth to stop himself. He slinks inside to lean his back against the wall, putting his hands behind his back. He looks at Sasha mock shyly, ruining the effect with a wide grin and an excited gleam in his eyes. “Во всех смыслах, croatoan. Преуспевать,” he says with warmth in his voice. ( _By all means, croatoan. Go ahead._ )

And that actually excites Sasha. Whatever game Mikey is playing at, he’s pushing a button by accepting to be called Бог брат under these circumstances, enhancing the effect further by using Sasha’s full title. It’s a small power trip. He can’t help but to get them, any time Mikey outright defers to him. He files it under yet another point that’s out of character. Maybe it’s a trap? Maybe Mikey is playing the honey trap card?

He is close enough now to put a hand on the wall beside Michael. He licks his lips and with a smirk says “Не возражаете, если я делаю.” ( _Don’t mind if I do._ ) Mikey’s smile twitches as Sasha leans in to kiss him. Nevertheless he reaches his head up to meet Sasha halfway, closing his eyes when their lips connect. Sasha gets his hands under Mikey’s shirt, strokes his sides, his back, lets his hands wander into his back pockets, then to the front to go into his front pockets. That’s when Mikey suddenly loses it―catching on―breaking the kiss by throwing his head back laughing. 

“You’re _frisking me_? You paranoid bastard! I told you I’m unarmed and come in peace,” Mikey says, grin nearly splitting his face and eyes full of delight. He holds his hands up in surrender to accentuate the point.

Sasha puts his thumb under Mikey’s chin and looks him in the eyes, lips continuously twitching in amusement. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he denies jokingly. He studies Mikey’s eyes carefully, and Michael picks up on what he’s doing again.

“I’m not high, asshole. I’d never do drugs,” Mikey says, chuckling. A Бог брат isn’t supposed to do drugs. They’re supposed to be above that. Michael’s not on painkillers anymore, but Sasha remembers the requests for ‘good stuff’ that had brought him a bad feeling. And he’s searching for a reason for the carefree out of character behaviour. Mikey grabs his hips and tugs him close. “I just want to have some fun on Anna’s bed with you, since it’s the last time ever we’ll set foot here. Давай, Cеребро. Иметь свой путь со мной, как если бы с ней.“ ( _Come on, Silver. Have your way with me, as you would with her._ )

It’s off. There’s no trace of insanity in Mikey’s eyes. They’re warm and open. His whole demeanor speaks of honesty. Sasha doesn’t buy it, but it’s nice. He’s seen Mikey play innocent charm before. It’s very convincing. And whatever the reason, Mikey has just given him detailed instructions of what he wants, since with Anna Sasha would act as a playful boyfriend taking the lead. Maybe it’s just Mikey’s morbid kinks showing their faces. The pretense of being the lover claiming the boyfriend and house of a girl who’s dying of cancer in the hospital.

_That’s probably it. You want that kind of theatrics? I’ll give it to you, Mikey boy. I’ll do it so well **you’ll** be convinced of my affections, despite knowing I’m putting on an act. You’ll see for yourself why I’m so fucking effective undercover…_

“Fair enough,” Sasha agrees with a smile and kisses Mikey again.

It’s strange to be flirty and seductive when the object is a man. It’s definitely made easier by the fact that he’s been with Mikey before, and that Mikey keeps acting out of character. He doesn’t even protest when Sasha twists his fingers in his hair and bends his head back, baring his throat. It’s a dominant gesture that usually makes Mikey truculent. Sasha keeps his focus on the objective he’s been given. It’s not a chore. From the wall to the bed it’s playful and carefree. Once they’re naked, Sasha doesn’t let arousal get the upper hand. He makes it more about body worship and sweet words than about sex. Mikey wanted to be treated like Anna, and he got what he bargained for. Sasha can see when he’s finally getting under Mikey’s skin, making him doubt the insincerity in Sasha’s actions and talk. Mikey gets a nervous aura, runs his tongue over his teeth under closed lips, looking ever so slightly unsettled. He closes his eyes and leaves himself over to Sasha, keeping quiet except for sounds of pleasure―withholding his usual encouragements and praise.

Afterwards they lay in bed kissing and cuddling for a while. Sasha’s withholding a smug chuckle, congratulating himself for a job well done. Michael leaves, refusing any attempts from Sasha to make him stay. It doesn’t really matter. Sasha’s sexually sated, power tripping on having had a Бог брат so completely at his mercy, and content at playing his assigned role so convincingly. A while later he gets up, gets dressed, and goes to finish taking down the last of the cameras in the bedroom. He finds himself holding the small cameras in the palm of his hand, staring at them, wondering…

* * *


	46. Happy Like This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha muses about how his life has changed since the Christmas showdown....

* * *

**2012**

* * *

February 10th

They're sitting side by side on an old piece of machinery draped in tarp, in an abandoned warehouse. They’re both sweaty, bare footed and bare chested after a sparring session that, to be frank, was more of a playful wrestling match than anything else. They’re nursing a beer each and Mikey keeps cracking jokes and talking. Sasha finds himself eyeing Michael appreciatively. For some reason Mikey shaves his chest and Sasha kind of likes that. Looking at a man to gauge his attractiveness isn’t really something Sasha has done before like he does now. Usually it was more trying to measure level of threat a man might be. Like muscle mass, weight, height, flexibility. But Michael is a handsome man. Slim, muscular, charming. Nowadays he _likes_ looking at Mikey. Just as he'd liked looking at Castiel. Not exactly the same, as Castiel had triggered very confusing _want_ in him. Fuck, but he'd give anything to be able to go back in time, knowing what he knows now. To get a chance at making Castiel stay, with the knowledge that he was falling in love at the time.

Mikey doesn’t incite that kind of want by looks alone. However, since that day in Anna’s house, he could trigger it by being coy and flirty. Mikey is an apex predator, outranking him by birthright alone. It seems Sasha enjoys hunting other apex predators like himself, not only with the intent to kill. It fucks with Mikey’s mind when Sasha comes onto him. Sasha could see that, and he enjoys pushing Mikey off center, knowing he can do it without being reprimanded for it. (Although, it is playing with fire.)

He realises he’s fucking happy. Since Christmas things have been over all great and getting better. So what if Mikey isn’t a woman? He could live like this and be content. He’d stay after Anna’s death, let Mikey dictate what work he’d do, do odd jobs together, hang out. Hell, the sex thing isn’t so bad. All the other parts of their relationship made up for it. Mikey is a hedonistic fucker. Why not indulge it? Their preferences slot together fairly well. He can turn a blind eye to Mikey’s somewhat distasteful likes. They leave Michael covered in blood more often than not, and he could take advantage of that. And Mikey doesn’t deny him women. It’s a fucked up balance of being Michael’s property, friend, and lover. They’re getting there, finding the balance. He can see himself being happy like this. 

“Are you even listening to me right now?” Mikey asks with a smile. He’s been so relaxed lately, showing sides he hasn’t shown before.

“No, not really,” Sasha admits, taking a sip from his beer.

Mikey lets out a short little incredulous laugh. “Fuck you. What are you thinking about?” he asks. Sasha pulls down the corners of his mouth and does a little half shrug. “No, come on. Tell me,” Michael insists, smiling in amusement.

“I’m thinking that you’re a very handsome man. Pretty even.”

“Pretty, huh? Girls are pretty.”

“Fair enough. If you say so.” Sasha’s lips quirk into a smirk. His brows draws down and he pins Mikey with a look he’d give prey. “You’re a very pretty girl, Mikey.”

He chuckles at the downright outrageous look on Michael’s face. 

“Watch your fucking mouth, _croat_.”

Playing with fire… Sasha grins slyly. “I’d rather watch yours.” Mikey looks totally at loss for words, and pissed the hell off, cheeks getting red from offense taken. Sasha leans in to give him a kiss, fully expecting the sucker punch that comes at his side. It’s a painful hit but he takes it laughing. “Oy, watch the beer,” he says, still laughing, and holds the beer bottle away from them not to spill.

Mikey’s anger dissipates in a _what-the-fuck?_ -laugh and a headshake. “Dude, fuck’s sake, get a grip. What’s next? You want me to slap on one of those short pleated schoolgirl skirts, with knee high socks too?”

“Not a bad idea,” Sasha agrees amusedly. “But make that thigh highs. With broad horizontal stripes in black and turquoise. And make the skirt plaid, turquoise and black, with thin stripes of yellow and white.”

Mikey squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head with a suffering grin. “That’s a horrible idea. What else? Top it off with a bra?”

“No. Bras look ridiculous on men. They should be worn by those who need them, you get what I’m sayin? But maybe top is off with a bow in your hair.”

Mikey’s shoulders shake in silent laughter. “You’re fucked up.”

“Hey, you’re the one who suggested it,” Sasha defends himself, smirking. “You’d look real good in it, though.”

“I look good in anything.”

Sasha makes a sturgeon face to concede to the point. “There’s one thing I can imagine that you’d look even better in.”

“And what’s that?” Mikey asks exasperatedly.

“The blood of your enemies.”

Michael’s eyebrows rises in surprise before he laughs again. “Fuck. You really know how to dirty talk a guy, don’t you?”

“You be the judge. So what were you saying before I got lost in thought?”

Mikey takes a sip on his beer. “I was _saying_ , how about we make a trip to London this summer? Live it up a little, and visit Liam. I haven’t seen him for years and I miss him.”

“You know I’ll go anywhere with you, Mikey boy. But that sounds good.” He rubs absentmindedly where Mikey had hit him in reprimand for calling him a girl.

Mikey notices it. “You okay?”

Sasha gives him a warm look and a soft smile. “Never been better,” he answers. Mikey returns the look with equal warmth, his cheeks are still red. Yes. Sasha thinks he can live like this and be happy. For once, the future looks bright.

* * *


	47. Hello Darkness My Old Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael pays Anna a visit in the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:**  
>  \- Mental illness  
> \- Disturbing elements  
> \- Poor Anna  
> \- Sexual harassment  
> \- tell me if I need more warnings.
> 
> **Notes:**  
>  I told myself I'd never write out of Michael's POV because I know what goes on inside his head and it fucks me up. I've tried to only write his thoughts, not his feelings, frankly because if I did that I'd break apart. He has too many and I just can't... can't deal with it. So this is written a bit different than my usual style, trying to get a feel for what he's feeling without writing emotions out plainly.   
> As always, thank you to my wonderful Beta - Mizz_Kitty21. <3

* * *

He’s watched the video sequence again and again. Pushing the moment he was planning to use it forward, wanting to keep it all to himself for a bit longer. It’s a weapon with jagged edges, meant to cause suffering. It isn’t something he’s supposed to watch for his own enjoyment. He isn’t supposed to enjoy it at all. Not like this. 

But he does. 

He knows Aleksandr is a masterful actor, but how much of this was acting? He wishes he could ask Luci. Luci had a gift for seeing beyond the masks of people.

He watches the video again, despairing at, and revelling in the emotions it causes.

He’s a fucking tomfool for allowing for this to happen. When _Otac_ finds out…

_...I’m good at keeping secrets. Really, Mikey, what we’ve become only makes me more loyal....You kill me you’d be losing a confidant, someone who knows what’s going on and can help you cope... You’d be doing yourself a disfavour by offing me before it’s discovered… I'll take my chances..._

He keeps telling himself that Aleksandr chose for himself, knowing full well how he’s going to die.

He’s just not sure if Aleksandr really gets it. What they’re doing. Where they’re heading.

He shakes himself out of the mindset he’s in.

Aleksandr had always been a bit too emphatic towards his victims. His initial plan to give Anna the death she feared most―dying by cancer, alone and deserted by everyone―is all kinds of brilliant, and goes hand in hand with _Otac’s_ teachings. But Aleksandr had admitted that he’d let Anna’s brother get away, admitted to loving the man enough to bypass the rules of the _Porodica_. 

He hasn’t sought out information about who Anna’s brother is, for Aleksandr’s sake. It’s better that way, since they’re letting him get away. But someone’s got to pay and letting Anna waste away isn’t enough. Aleksandr is too soft. So he’s going to dig the knife in and really twist it, since Aleksandr can’t.

He’s made another copy of the video. It’s on a well hidden micro SD card along with some other clips he’s re-watched far too many times, lacking excuse for it.

“ _...Just for us,_ Бог брат. _Just for us…_ ”

No. He doesn’t think Aleksandr gets it.

Time to twist the knife around.

* * *

* * *

**2012**

* * *

February 15th

“Hi. I’m here to see Anna Collins. Could you direct me to her room, please?”

“Who are you?”

That’s not a question he’s supposed to have to answer here in twin towns. He makes note of the nurse's name on her name tag. Maybe she isn’t local. Neither Aleksandr nor Luci likes him to play with locals. “I'm her brother.”

“You’re James Novak?”

Heartbroken. “Yes. I came as soon as I heard. Is there any hope? I heard she doesn't have any health insurance. I'll do anything to save her…” 

Keep talking bullshit. ID? Too upset and heartbroken to have remember to bring it. It’s all very tragic. Yes, yes. Stop wasting my time and bring me to her, you fucking mudmonkey. Your rules doesn’t apply to me. That’s it. Lead the way. Sad concerned smile and polite words. Fucking bitch. Inform Dr. Mabduw that I’m here and like to speak with him afterwards. And don't go hanging around. I want to be alone with my “sister”. 

He enters Anna’s room and locks the door―she's got one all to herself thanks to Doug. Can’t have anyone snooping around a pet project. It’s quiet except for the beep from the heart monitor and the wheezing sound from the machine that helps her breathe. She’s too weak to breathe on her own. Something about the signals from her brain not getting through to her lungs. He should have come sooner. A week ago she was breathing on her own and could have answered what he was about to say to her. It doesn't matter as long as she's conscious enough to understand him.

She’s gained weight. How the hell do you gain weight when you're hooked on to a drip and dying? Her cheeks and eyes are sunken and hollow. Her skin is pale and her hair lusterless. She opens her eyes and he knows why Aleksandr likes her. They should be dead and dulled by defeat, but they're not. There’s still inner light there. It’s going to make this so much better. He gets to snuff it out. It’s her fault he and Aleksandr are in danger anyway. Lexi wouldn’t have come here if it wasn’t for her. She recognises him as Michael Filiusdei. He can see it in her eyes. 

Not the hockey player visiting this time, sweetheart.

“Hi, sweetheart. I'm here on the behalf of common friends of ours,” he says and goes to sit down on her bedside. “Your brother made a deal, you see. He gave you away.”

Monologuing. Aleksandr and Luci would have a fit. Only, this serves a purpose. It’s meant to undo every good moment Anna’s had with Aleksandr. 

The heart monitor jumps, speeding up its beeps a fraction as Anna looks up at his smiling face with a confused frown.

“You thought you’re in your present position because of bad luck, didn’t you? Not at all. Your brother sold you out.” She can’t answer with a fucking tube down her throat. Her pulse speeds up another notch. He throws the blanket covering her on the floor and pulls up the hospital gown she’s wearing, bunching it under her chin. She’s naked underneath. 

_beepbeepbeepbeepbeep_

That’s right. You should be afraid.

The heart monitor is music to his ears as it drops the beat. Maybe he should get one to the cottage. Make playtime more fun. 

Anna feebly tries to push him away, but she’s so weak. Can hardly lift her arms. He ignores her, lets her try all she wants while he runs a hand over her body, feeling the clammy skin underneath. “You don’t look so good to be honest. Bruise easily, do you?” He pinches the inside of her thigh, listening to the sweet sound of her trying to cry out in pain with a tube down her throat. “Would you look at that. A bruise already forming. How quaint.”

There’s fear and confusion in Anna’s eyes, but also outrage.

That’s beautiful. Defiant even on your deathbed. I should have let Aleksandr build you up instead of breaking you down. You’d be shining like a supernova. I would have loved to snuff that light with exquisite, delicious, pain. But here you are. Not even strong enough to get out of bed, or lift your arms enough to defend yourself.

Doug had given him a rundown on her condition beforehand.

“Bet you wish your boyfriend was here to save you now,” he says and scrapes his nails through her pubic hair. It’s as red as the rest of her hair. Trails his hand over the bump of her stomach, up to her chest, circles a nipple playfully with a finger. “Are you worried about him? He said he’d never abandon you. His job is dangerous. Something must have happened for him not to be here, right?” He strokes the hair on her head soothingly. She tries to say something, angrily, but the tube down her throat prevents her. She is struggling to get away from him. It’s useless in her state, nevertheless he pulls out a roll of tape from his pocket and tapes her hands together, then tapes it to the rails on the headboard, leaving her lying open and defenseless. He gets off the bed and tapes her ankles together too, then he goes back to sit on the side of her bed. He’s not even remotely interested in raping her. The sexual touches are just to degrade and humiliate. To underline how defenseless she is.

“Let’s talk about him, shall we, sweetheart?” He shoves her to the side and half sits, half lies down beside her, hoists her up to rest on his shoulder, arm behind her neck, like they’re cuddling. “He’s quite a looker, isn’t he? Compact, muscular body, agile and limber, reflexes like a cobra, and fucking fast. Fast like you wouldn't believe. He can sit still for hours and then just explode into action. Have you tried to be still for hours and then hit the ground running?” He looks down on her with raised eyebrows and a kindly smile.

Anna just glares defiantly at him through tired eyes. He frowns in mock malcontent, then pinches one of her nipples as hard as he can. She cries out, muffled by the tube. Another pinch, this one to her side, elicits another cry and a pretty bruise. “Now, now, sweetheart,” he chastises calmly. Her eyes are tearing up. He grabs her hair with the hand on the arm she’s resting on, and twists her head so she’s looking at him. “When I ask you a question, I expect you to answer. Nod for yes and shake your head for no. Failure to do so will be punished,” he says with a kind and patient expression. “Let's try it out, shall we? Have you ever tried being still for hours, then go straight to a dead run?”

She shakes her head. There’s more fear in her expression now, her heart beating wildly. “No? Well I can tell you it hurts. Your body stiffens from sitting still so long. But when Dmitri does it you can't tell he’s in pain.”

I admire that. That, and Lexi’s lack of jitters. So fucking sharp and calm. So mentally solid.

He lets go of Anna’s hair and pets it instead, placing a soft kiss on her clammy temple. He looks at the wall opposite the bed and keeps petting her. “And he’s fucking beautiful to look at. All his flaws are on the right side of handsome. The square jaw, the high cheekbones, the hawkish nose with its little bump where it’s been broken in the past. And those fucking eyes. Slightly slanted, ringed by lashes of a fucking doe, and so, so… _alive_. You don’t know it, sweetheart, since you don’t know what he is, but his kind… their eyes are usually dead or mad. Dmitri? He shines. Does he make your breath hitch and your heart stutter?” he asks and turns his head to look down on her again. She has squeezed her eyes shut, lashes wet by silent tears, and is tugging feebly on her restraints. She is way too weak to succeed.

“Anna, we've talked about this,” he says with an impatient frown. He reaches down and pinches her clitoris this time. Her eyes fly open and she lets out a muffled scream. 

“I asked you a question. So does he?”

Anna nods, crying freely now. “Good girl. Me too, sweetheart. Me too,” he says wistfully and pets her head, pushing her elbow out of the way behind them so he can lean his head against hers properly.

How many confessions have I given to the dying? Too many. Deliberate parapraxis. Fuck it. If Aleksandr knew... Just friends? It’s a joke, and it’s on me. When _Otac_ finds out, I’ll be dancing in Leo’s footsteps, no matter what Aleksandr thinks. The relationship I’m allowing us to develop is internecine, to say at least.

Anna tries saying something with an angry scowl. He listens, trying to discern what the noises mean. He raises his eyebrows and chuckles. “What I've done to him? Nothing. I’m gonna let you in on a little secret, sweetheart. Dmitri doesn’t care jack shit about you. That’s not even his real name. Everything he's said and done has been a lie. Remember I told you about your brother? You see, Dmitri’s a contract killer and he came here to kill you, on behalf of your brother.”

Anna shakes her head in vehement denial. 

Don’t believe me, do you? You’re going to.

“It’s true, dear. You were marked for death before you even met him. Every bad thing that has happened to you, he’s behind it. The rape, the sex tape, Jake’s death, Lottie’s death, losing your job, your declining health, _everything_.” He snorts in amusement. “It’s funny, because you’re the one who told him how you were going to die, by revealing your worst fear to him. And here we are, almost a year later, and you’re dying from widespread cancer, alone, like your mother. You can’t really believe it’s a coincidence? It’s not. He’s been steadily poisoning you through your orange juice. He’s also had your house riddled with hidden cams. Every time you’ve had sex, he’s uploaded the clip to pornhub, to show the world what a pathetic little whore you are.”

That is a lovely idea. 

Aleksandr wouldn’t want it though. A shame. Maybe if we pixelated his face?

No.

Nobody but those he himself chooses, gets to see him like that. It would be disrespectful towards him. No fucking mudmonkeys can see him, unless he says so. Anyone tries, I’ll fucking gut them.

Anna makes a protesting noise, still glaring angrily at him, still not believing. 

He gives her a pitying look, stroking her belly and chest. “Oh hon. I’m sorry. I’m not lying about that. I haven’t done anything to him. He’s not here because he’s out there congratulating himself on a job well done. He doesn’t love you. I know that, because he loves me.”

_That’s_ most likely a lie, but you don’t need to know that.

“No, no. It’s true. I swear. I can prove it to you. We’re going to watch a movie clip together now. You’re going to keep watching. If you don’t, I’ll tape your eyes open. I’ve got eye drops with me to keep your eyes moist, so don’t go closing your eyes you hear? It won’t help.”

He takes forth his phone and starts the movie clip. It’s on mute. On the screen he comes in to Anna’s bedroom and Aleksandr startles, spinning around with gun drawn. He recognises Michael and holsters the gun, chastising him for sneaking up on him. Anna can’t hear what they’re saying of course, but she can’t miss how Aleksandr turns on the charm, saunters up with him, puts a hand on the wall and leans in for a kiss.

“He’s a great kisser, isn’t he? Fuck, but it makes me all weak in the knees. I don’t think he knows that,” he confesses to Anna who’s watching, looking absolutely horror struck at the scene playing out on the screen. “Let’s skip ahead to where it gets interesting.” 

The clip is edited. He’s switched between camera angles to make sure Anna gets that there’s more than one camera.

“You were just a mark for him. A naive little cunt, to be used as a fuck hole until you were too sick to turn him on,” he informs Anna, hitting play again. “Now this is what real lovemaking looks like.” He turns the sound on this time. Anna doesn’t understand Russian, but it doesn’t matter. She understands the tone of voice just fine, the smiles, the tender looks, the hunger and the passionate curses borne out of pleasure. 

The switch between the angles also tricks the mind. From behind it looks as if Michael is riding Aleksandr at one point. He wasn’t. He was just straddling him, grinding. There are limits he _can’t_ cross, even if he wants to. And he wants to. 

Aleksandr has much firmer limits than him, but for other reasons. He’s yet to coax the older man into giving him a blowjob, or to let him go in the back way. Oddly enough, he’s okay with that. He keeps forgetting that Aleksandr is just a mudmonkey that should bend freely to his will. Even _Otac_ doesn’t treat him that way. Not really. But he’s not sure why. _Otac_ is better, smarter, than all of them. There must be a hidden reason for the esteem Lexi’s held in. It can’t _just_ be his ability to make the браћа enjoy their studies and excel. Can it? The reason is irrelevant. If they’re found out they’re both dead, and Luci will go down alongside with them, will be exposed for breaking the same rule. Aleksandr is supposedly expendable. Supposedly. But Luci isn’t. Never. He must be protected at all costs.

Stop thinking about it. Focus on narrating what happens on the screen, tell Anna the bullshit she needs to hear to die inside. Twist the knife. Yes, yes. Very tragic. Dumb cunt. You’ve been thoroughly fooled. You’re nothing. You’re worthless. You feel that? All hope breaking apart. There’s no hope. Welcome to my world. At least _you_ will be free of it soon. I’m still stuck doing my duty.

The video plays on. A couple of times he has to chastise Anna to make her keep watching. There’s little resistance. She is crying freely, it’ll get worse. She shakes her head now and then in denial. Soon they’ll be at the part that is sharp and barbed. He cut himself on those barbs too. Can’t get them out. He’s watched so many times. Wishing. And Aleksandr doesn’t get it. Those barbs are in deep. He wants Anna to die horribly from them.

“Look closely now, Anna. Pay attention.” He turns the volume up. She can’t miss this. Aleksandr speaks English and his words are the killing blow that will rip Anna’s heart out. Too bad they lodged in his own too.

They’re post coital. Aleksandr is cradling him to his chest, smiling, stroking his sweat matted hair out of his face. His head rested on Aleksandr’s chest, riding a wave of calm and exhilarated bliss to the steady thump-thump-thump beat of Aleksandr’s heart. It’s all he can never be allowed to have, all he needs to distance himself from. Stolen. The worst sin of them all. He had to go or he’d never be able to leave. He sits up and makes a shitty excuse. Aleksandr grabs his wrist and pulls him back with a playful smile that makes his own heartbeat anything but steady. “Don’t go, Mikey boy. We’ve got all the time in the world. How bout taking a shower together, huh? Let me wash that perfect body of yours. Maybe get it all dirty again, you get what I’m sayin?”

“Tempting. But I’ve got somewhere I need to be.” He sits up again and throws his legs over the side of the bed.

Aleksandr sits up and scoots to sit against his back, legs hanging over the side of the bed outside of his own. A protective blanket, shielding him from turmoil and silencing the internal screams that keeps him up at night. Big strong arms wrapping around his midriff, thumbs stroking his sides. Teeth scraping gently against the juncture between neck and shoulder, making every hair on his body stand on end. A soft bite, a promise of distracting and purifying pain. “Come on, Michael. You’re a god amongst mortals. Let the world wait. Anna is finally dying. The job is done. We’re free to be just you and me. Stay a while longer to celebrate.”

He pauses the clip. “Did you catch that, sweetheart? I told you.” He smiles at Anna’s shell shocked expression. “Let’s watch it again.”

He backs up the clip just a couple of seconds and hits play. 

“Anna is finally dying. The job is done. We’re free to be just you and me. Stay a while longer to celebrate.”

And again.

“Anna is finally dying. The job is done. We’re free to be just you and me. Stay a while longer to celebrate.”

And again.

“Anna is finally dying. The job is done. We’re free to be just you and me. Stay a while longer to celebrate.”

… _We’re free to be just you and me…_

Lexi, you fool. You know we’ll never be free. If I fail my duty those I love will die. Luci will die, alongside Sam. _You_ will die. There’s no way around it. There are no loopholes.

 

 

But if you find one, please, _please_ , tell me.

 

The light has finally gone out of Anna’s eyes. “He’s got a way with words, doesn’t he? Makes you think things are possible, that aren’t. When he speaks, you want to believe him,” he says, more for his own benefit than Anna’s. Aleksandr delivered the killing blow with those few lines. Anna’s hope is eradicated. It’s plain in her face. Sorrow, numbness. No despair. Despair is for those who still thinks there’s a way out. “And this, my dear little mudmonkey trash, is him speaking the truth. He came here to kill you on your brother’s behalf. Best thing is, you don’t have any insurance, so once you die your house and everything you own will be taken by the bank to cover the cost of your medical bills. So your brother won’t gain anything from your death. There’s no ulterior motive for him. He just happily sacrificed your life, because, why not?”

He gives Anna a kiss on the forehead and gets off the bed, pulls down the hospital gown bunched around her shoulders and cuts off the tape restraining her. Her arms fall limply down her sides. He pulls up the protective side rails on the bed on both sides to prevent her from falling or rolling off the bed. He doesn’t want her to be able to pull out the electrical cord that keeps the machine breathing for her. Suicide is not supposed to be an option. “Nobody wants you, Anna. You’re dumb and discardable. Have a nice life,” he says, covering her with the blanket he threw off her earlier. He licks the salty tears off her cheeks.

You’re lucky―you get to cry.

He deletes the video from his phone, knowing it’s still safe on another SD card, and leaves, closing the door behind him. Doug is waiting for him in the corridor, smiling warmly.

They hug. A fierce cling, burying noses in necks to inhale the scent of comfort and love. He’s not supposed to feel this desperate. He’s not allowed to have all these feelings, clawing his insides to shreds. He needs to conceal it. Don’t show how he’s cracking and falling to pieces. Don’t let them see that he is lost and drifting. They need him. He’s got duties. He needs to be strong, set an example, be the rock foundation that others can build on. A strong foundation. Like Lexi. Fuck.

“Doug, мали брат. I’ve missed you. You didn’t come home to the last gathering.”

“No. I was busy. I have this project. It’s big. It was at a vulnerable stage. ...I missed you too,” Doug says, stepping away, not meeting his eyes, but holding onto his hand, not wanting to lose touch completely. 

It’s okay. Leo’s death spooked us all, мали брат. If I could just find out who told on him…

“You got an update on Anna’s health?” he asks, running his fingers through Doug’s hair, his little brother needily leaning into the touch.

“I do. And I’m not sure what to make of it. I’ve run the tests three times already, and done multiple scans. I’m hard pressed to believe the results. The scientist in me is thrilled, the other part of me, not so much.” Doug looks serious and concerned.

“She’s not going to survive is she?”

“What? No. Oh no. No, no, no. Not a chance. She might last anything from hours to maximum three more months, depending. No, but her hormones… I’d better show you. Come on.”

Doug leads him down the corridor, still with his fingers laced together with his. He never wants to let go. They enter a room Doug has claimed as his temporary office while he’s here. There are bunch of body scans on the walls. Brain scans, lungs, internal organs, and… “What am I looking at?” he asks, seeing something he thinks he shouldn’t be seeing.

Doug lets go of his hand. “Something that shouldn’t be possible and doesn’t make sense. See all these? They’re widespread tumors. This one? Not so much. But no matter how many tests I run, her bloodworks tells me it isn’t there.”

_thump, thump, thumpthumpThumpTHUMPTHUMP_

It’s a good thing he isn’t hooked onto a heart monitor with how his heart starts racing. “She’s pregnant,” he says numbly.

Doug nods. 

“But _how_?”

“I don’t have to tell you babies are made do I?” Doug jokes, but it’s mirthless. Doug likes Aleksandr too. A lot. This is not good news.

“But he was giving her contraceptives, wasn’t he?”

“Yes. But they’re not foolproof. Maybe the drugs worked against them? Maybe they both are extremely fertile. Maybe… seriously, I don’t know what’s gone wrong. According to blood tests she isn’t pregnant, but there he is, by all appearance, hale and healthy while his mother is dying around him.”

“ _He_? It’s a boy?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure? It’s not just a tumor that happens to look a lot like a fetus?”

“I’m sure. Come. Look at this.” Doug goes to his computer and opens a video file. “I had trouble believing it myself, so I did a HD live ultrasound. Look.” 

There, on the screen, is the unmistaking image of a baby.

“Wow.” He feels a short little incredulous laugh bubble up when the baby moves, seemingly poking his nose and sticking the finger into his mouth.

Fuck. His heart is too big for his chest. How do you breathe again? That’s Lexi’s son right there. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

“Oh, dear god. He’s perfect. Is there any chance for him to survive? Even if Anna doesn’t?”

“I don’t know. Depends on how long we can keep her alive. Her house will not be enough to cover the hospital bills if we try…”

“Fuck that. I’ll pay. For all of it.”

Doug nods. “I was thinking the same thing. I was planning to cover it, blaming it on my experiment. But I wanted your opinion on that. I mean. By all likeliness, Srebro is doomed. He’ll probably have brain damages and I don’t know… The chances of us being able to save him are miniscule―“

“Wait. You named him?”

“Don’t look at me like that. I name individual cells and bacteria I work with. Of course I’m going to name a fetus too.”

Srebro. Meaning silver. 

“Alright, alright. Srebro it is. Let’s make his last name Argent while we’re at it.” Not that he’s superstitious, but if he was, he’d believe that a name would give the unborn child a greater chance of surviving.

Srebro Argent. Silver Silver.

Doug chuckles at the double name. “Works for me. As I was saying, his chances are slim. If you want me to try to save him we need to try to keep Anna alive as long as possible. If she dies now he dies with her.”

“How far gone is she?”

“By my estimate, about 20 weeks. If she survives another five or six weeks, maybe, _maybe_ he has a chance. We’ll pump her full of steroids and use her as a human incubator, then he’ll have to spend time in an actual incubator. I’ll get him out through caesarean section when I believe she’s dying. But, Mikey, don’t get your hopes up.”

“Fuck. Aleksandr can’t know.” He sits down on a chair and stares at the clip of the 3D ultrasound. “You know how he’s been with us. Stick a baby in his arms and he turns into a fucking Mama bear. Imagine if that baby was his own instead of a браћа… and he was out of sorts when Anna tested negative. It’d fuck him up if we failed to save Srebro, I just know it. Maybe we should just pull the plug on Anna and pretend this never happened.” He shares a worried look with Doug, his heart still pounding furiously. This job had gone so smoothly. Of course something had to go wrong. Murphy didn’t write his law for nothing.

Please, Dougie, talk us out of it. Make us fight. Just look at that perfect little human on the screen. He’s part of Aleksandr. We need to at least try.

“Then you do it,” Doug says. “I, I don’t want to do it. We punish people who cross us, but reward those loyal to us. I know Chaadayev is just a croat…”

No he isn’t.

The look they share says they both agree on that unspoken sentiment.

“...but he’s as loyal as they come,” Doug continues. “And I can honestly say that I wouldn’t be where I am today, if he hadn’t fuelled my drive and interest as a child. He always did more than duty demanded. I can’t, no, I don’t _want to_ kill his unborn son. However small, there is a chance that he’ll survive.”

“Alright. Anna will need to be isolated and restrained. No matter how weak she is, she might try to take her own life. Can it be achieved here, or does she have to be moved?”

“I can do it here. But I agree with you, Aleksandr can’t know. Not before the boy is out of the woods, if ever. You need to keep him away from here. He keeps asking me for updates. You know him, he doesn’t leave a job unfinished. He might show up here to check up on Anna. And when she starts showing…”

“...if she survives that long.”

“If she survives that long, yes. I don’t want him to see it,” Doug says.

He stares at the screen, weighing the slim chances of the unborn―possibly handicapped―child, against the steady, soothing thump-thump-thump of Lexi’s heart under his ear. He weighs the bitterness in Aleksandr’s face and voice when he talked about family during Christmas, against the way Aleksandr seemed to always know exactly what he needs and when, giving it without question. The unshakable support and declaration of loyalty to the браћа (despite _Otac’s_ decrees), versus the horrible fate that awaits Aleksandr once they were found out. He weighed how badly he needs Lexi to get through the days without Luci, how it felt like to have him lying on top―strong and passively aggressively bossy, pushing the limits of their forbidden affair with his dominant personality―how his warm chuckle felt reverberating through skin, how everything felt possible when he was around, against the clutch of ice in his stomach when he thought about getting caught.

Aleksandr had already given him the answer to this equation.

_...I made a vow to put the Sin-Božji above my own wants and those of my family if I ever got one. It’s on my fucking skin…_

The least he can do for Aleksandr is to send him away to safety―as safe as an active croat could ever be―and to save his son and put him up in good foster care.

“Saul and Tyler have been on me to transfer Chaadayev to them. I’ll send him away. Just, just.. give me a couple of days.”

Doug nods as if he understands. He shouldn’t understand. But Doug understands enough to reach for his hand again, giving it a squeeze. He’s not concealing his feelings enough, clipping the mask in place. Smile for the audience. Don’t let them see.

“M-Mikey?” Doug asks uncertainly. “Maybe… maybe not tell _Otac_ about this?”

“I don’t see why we should,” he agrees. “It’s just the child of a croat after all.”

He thinks about how life will be without Lexi.

Sleep. Who needs it?

It’s not like I’ll be alone during those hours anyway.

Hello Darkness, my old friend. Looks like it’s gonna be just me and you for a long, long time...

* * *

He’s expecting it when it hits.

He’s walking back home when the dreaded feeling hits. He hates when it happens. The faces on people around him seems to twist into grotesque masks or just melt right off, like slender man. He never knows if he’s just dreaming. If he’s even real at all. If he ever was. They’re all ugly, horrible, or faceless monsters. Fucking mudmonkeys. He’d kill them all if he could. If they’d just leave him alone. He can’t feel his body. It’s still there, moving just fine. He can see it. The darkness lurks in the corners of his vision, fleeing out of sight if he turns his head to try to see it. Like a fool, he still tries. He knows better.

He stops at the bakery. Smiles charmingly to the woman behind the counter, tries to not look at how her face just melts off and lands with a sickening sound on the counter, splattering the cinnamon rolls he just ordered. 

Yes, yes. Of course I can sign your nephew’s cap. Hello there, champ. 

The boy she ushers forward from behind the counter is faceless, just a blank space where expressions should be. All he gets from the boy is an aura of awe and excitement. A little girl dares to come up to him too. She shines brightly, chasing the darkness away, reaching out to touch him, and with an audible _pop_ everything is back to normal. The boy beside him is beaming at him, so proud and happy to have his Angels cap signed by him. There’s no puddles of facial goo on the counter and the woman is smiling at him. It’s a temporary respite and he knows it. Grounded by the touch of a small girl, making him real. She doesn’t shine as brightly as Sam. Few do. 

He wish he could tell someone, ask someone about this. Is it like this for everybody? He doesn’t think so. He can’t ask. It’d show how weak he is. How scared and confused he is. It’s his duty to be strong for his brothers, for _Otac_ , for the _Porodica_. Luci narrates reality for him without knowing. But Luci isn’t talking to him now. Maybe never will be again. 

He leaves the bakery with the cinnamon rolls.

The darkness is back to lurk in his peripheral vision. At least now faces don’t twist into grotesque masks. 

It’s not much better like this. An 18 year old black man with dimples fall into step with him, glaring accusingly. “You’ve been dead for ten years. Go away, Leo.” He shouldn’t do that. Shouldn’t talk to them. Bella is easier to ignore when she shows up. She’s just a kid, a mudmonkey. Leo has a living breathing twin that shows how Leo would look if he’d been allowed to live. He shouldn’t talk to them, he should just sidestep straight into Leo. The lack of touch would confirm him as unreal and make him fade. He knows that. He’s learned. Bella he always walks right through. She’s not family, not allowed to haunt him. But not a day goes by that he doesn’t miss Leo, Mal, Samael. Fuck, but Sammie was only twelve when he died. He wants them all back. It’s hard not to talk to them, not to want them to stay for a bit longer. Even if they’re harsh. Even if they’re not real. At least, he thinks they aren’t. Maybe he’s the one who isn’t real. He’s not sure. 

He nods pleasantly to two men in Angel supporter jackets, soaking in their excitement, hating himself and hating them for needing their admiration. He smiles and winks flirtingly at a woman. She blushes, covering a giggle with her hand.

Leo keeps in step with him, not leaving him alone, leaving no footsteps, not making the snow squeak underfoot.

He changes direction.

“Where are you going?” Leo asks accusingly, noting the change of direction.

He doesn’t answer this time, keeps walking. Looking straight ahead, not at Leo, not at the darkness. It’s been gone for most of the time since Christmas. He wishes it would stay gone, even if it meant he’d never see Leo, Mal, and little Sammie again. 

“You’re going to _him_ , aren’t you?”

Go away, мали брат. I love you, but you’re lost already.

“You are. Fuck you, Mikey! You let this happen to me. You’re letting the same thing happen to Luci, and now yourself. It’s all your fault!”

I did not sell you out, Leo.

“You keep saying that. But you knew. You knew. Who else would have told _Otac_? It wasn’t Liam, that’s for sure. He knew too. But he’d never sell me out. It’s your fault I’m dead.”

He stops and scowls, turning towards Leo. “How many times do I have to tell you? I. Didn’t. Tell. _Otac_.” He realises what he’s doing and looks around. There’s no one there to see him. He turns away again and keeps walking, squeezing the paper bag with the cinnamon rolls in his hand.

I’d never sell you out.

“Luci’s going to die. You know it. It’ll be your fault. You were the one to introduce him to Sam Winchester. Now he’s going to die just like me. It’s on you. Only you,” Leo says.

He lengthens his steps, hurries towards his goal. A car honks and he throws the driver a salute and a lopsided smile. Conceal it. Don’t let them see. His heart goes _thumpthumpthump_.

“Don’t go there, Mikey. Turn around. Go home. Please, Mikey. He’ll be the death of you,” Leo pleads, desperate now when they turn onto a familiar road.

That doesn’t seem so bad.

“Come on, Mikey. They still need you. Leave him alone.”

He jogs the last stretch. The car’s in the driveway. Leo stops on the curb outside the yard, shaking his head in disappointment, not following all the way up to the house.

He unlocks the door and steps inside. “Honey, I’m home!” he calls out. The house smells deliciously of food. Leo is gone before he’s even finished shutting the door.

“In the kitchen,” Lexi yells back.

He kicks off his shoes and hangs up his jacket, then goes to the kitchen.

_thumpthump―_

Lexi’s standing with his back to him by the stove. Soft heathered gray tee stretching over his shoulders, falls loosely around his torso. Sweatpants rolled up to reveal his calves and bare feet. He turns his head enough to smile.

_― **THUMP!** THUMP! ― _

He smiles back at Aleksandr. “It smells delicious. You cooking?”

Aleksandr gives him a dry look. “No.”

The darkness in the corners grows. He hates the icy fear that hits him. 

This is real isn’t it? Lexi’s just being sarcastic, isn’t he? I didn’t walk into an empty house, imagining all this, did I? Have I already sent Aleksandr away? Not yet. A couple of days more. Or have those days passed and I somehow forgot? That’d be new. Could happen. Am I just dreaming?

“I’m making cheese, ham and broccoli pie,” Aleksandr says then, suddenly stopping what he’s doing and turning around to look at him with that look that’s impossible to interpret. He dries his hands off on a kitchen towel, throws it onto his shoulder and comes walking. “You wanna help, Mikey?” he asks, slapping a firm hand to his shoulder.

He’s solid. Real. Fingers warm through fabric. The darkness recedes.

_― THUmp. Thump. thump thump_

“You’ll have to show me how,” he says, smiling.

Aleksandr throws his arm around his neck and tugs him to towards the stove. “Ayy. That’s what friends are for.”

The stillness settles when the darkness disappears. 

Friends. Don’t make me laugh.

“I bought cinnamon rolls for us.”

“Ooo. _Bribes_. My kind of boy!” Lexi’s eyes sparks with humour, and something else―something sharp, dangerous, playful―something flirty, as he takes the paper bag from his hands.

His cheeks heats up, heart doing one of those fucked up hard thumps, lungs temporarily forgetting the regular pattern for breathing. He scowls to hide the forbidden reaction behind anger. “I’m not a boy,” he protests. 

He wishes he was. A boy. A child. He wishes someone would take all this responsibility away from him.

“Pardon me,” Aleksandr says, the teasing smile crinkling the fine lines around his eyes. He always shone brightly. He’s been shining brighter since Christmas, not withholding any of his inner light. Aleksandr spins him around, pinning him against the counter, not an inch to spare. Towering. So fucking big. A bomb shelter and a battlecruiser all at once. Safe and dangerous beyond belief. Firm hand gripping his hips. Too certain and too possessive. Way beyond what a croat should ever be allowed. Lips graze his ear. “I meant, my kind of _man_...” 

The low rumble of Lexi’s voice makes every hair stand on end. “You keep that up, whatever’s currently in the oven will burn,” he deflects as not to turn needy and desperate for what those hands and that mouth can do. Those teeth. 

“Killjoy,” Aleksandr says with a chuckle and steps away. “Wash your hands. I’ll show you what you need to do. I’m just going to take the meat pie out of the oven first.”

Aleksandr’s touching him during the time they work. A pat on the shoulder, a bump of the hip, a noogie. Simple touches paired with teasing smiles and knowing glances. Like he instinctively knows how grounding they are and that they’re needed. Lexi’s not always this handsy. It’s mostly when reality is a struggle, with the darkness creeping and visions of things that aren’t real. Aleksandr will touch him then. Be in more or less constant contact. Like he sees it. Like he _knows_. 

If he pulls the plug on Anna tomorrow, he could keep this. He can keep the darkness at bay, function properly, be able to breathe. With Aleksandr he doesn’t hate the world so much. He feels relaxed, like things could be alright, if not today, tomorrow, the next year. The closer they get, the further he lets this go, the longer the stillness and clarity remains. When his heart speeds up or makes irregular jumps with Lexi, it’s not out of fear. It’s so much better, so much worse―so fucking forbidden and lethal. _Otac_ will take one look at them and know.

He puts the finishing touches to the pie. “There. Done. What do you think?”

Aleksandr drapes himself against his back, hugs him from behind and puts his chin on his shoulder to look at the perfect grid pattern on top of the pie. “Prettiest pie I ever saw.”

If he pulls the plug on Anna before Aleksandr finds out about the perfect little baby boy growing in her stomach, he can keep this. But what would Aleksandr do, what would he feel if he ever found out about Srebro?

He gave me the answer to that already.

_...But in the end… I will not give you my daughter…_

No. I can’t do that to him.

Just give me a few more days of this.

He’ll be safer away from me anyway. 

He turns around and pulls Aleksandr down for a hungry kiss, ignoring the surprised sound. Lexi adapts to the situation fast enough, hands pulling him closer and squeezing his ass.

Just a few more days to drown myself in his light.

No. I don’t think he really gets what he is to me.

* * *


	48. Clueless on the Other side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikey comes home to Sasha bringing cinnamon buns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter with Sasha's pov of last chapter's scene. :)

* * *

**2012**

* * *

Tuesday February 15th

“Honey, I’m home!”

“In the kitchen,” Sasha calls in response. The downside of the Anna job, now that she’s in the hospital dying, is downtime. Unless Mikey assigns him a task, there isn’t much to do. All his gear is squeaky clean, everything restocked, and there’s only so much TV you can watch, before playing Russian roulette with yourself starts seeming like a good idea. So he woke up today and figured he could cook. He’s got one meat pie in the oven and has just brought forth the ingredients for another pie.

Mikey comes into the kitchen with a paper bag in his hand. He turns his head enough to shoot Mikey a smile over his shoulder.

Mikey smiles back. “It smells delicious. You cooking?”

Sasha gives him a dry look, staving off the urge to roll his eyes. “No.”

The answer is barely out of his mouth before he picks up in that vibrating feeling of _wrong_ coming from Mikey. “I’m making cheese, ham and broccoli pie,” he adds. He stops what he’s doing and turns around, assessing the younger man while drying his hands off on a kitchen towel. There aren’t any real shifts in Michael’s expression, just a slight edge of very well hidden hysterics to his smile and in his eyes. He knows that look. Something has happened. Most likely another fight with Lucifer. He throws the towel over his shoulder and goes to meet Mikey, slapping a reassuring hand to his shoulder. “You wanna help, Mikey?” 

“You’ll have to show me how,” Mikey answers, smiling.

Sasha throws an arm around his neck and tugs him to towards the stove. “Ayy. That’s what friends are for.” Mikey seems calmer already. 

“I bought cinnamon rolls for us,” Mikey says, holding up the paper bag like an offering.

For a second that makes him think of how Castiel would bring him gifts, like a dog bringing back prey in a hunt, or a cat dropping off a mouse. He likes it. Castiel or Mikey, doesn’t really matter. The feeling of contentment is the same―both looking at him like they’re waiting to see if they did good, waiting for his approval. It’s funny how things have changed. How fucking nice he thinks it is to have Mikey show up unannounced in his kitchen nowadays, even with the feeling of wrong in his aura. It makes him feel playful, younger. “Ooo. _Bribes_. My kind of boy!” he says with amusement while taking the paper bag from Mikey’s hand and setting it on the counter, eyes narrowing, lips curving in a smirk, leering. Knowing that look will get a reaction out of Mikey.

Mikey’s cheeks reddens angrily and he scowls. “I’m not a boy,” he protests indignantly. 

“Pardon me,” Sasha says with a teasing smile. He spins Mikey around, pinning him against the counter, pressing close and holding back thrilled laughter at Mikey’s surprised reaction. Fuck, but he really _likes_ this. He might have been playing house with Anna, but with Mikey it doesn’t feel like an act. He’s gotten used to it, relaxed into the new dynamic that has formed between them, with all it entails. He grips Michael’s hips, claiming forbidden ownership and loving the lack of protest. He puts his lips to Mikey's ear and purrs “I meant, my kind of _man_...” 

“You keep that up, whatever’s currently in the oven will burn,” Michael answers, slightly breathlessly. 

_Point taken._

“Killjoy,” Sasha says with a chuckle and steps away. “Wash your hands. I’ll show you what you need to do. I’m just going to take the meat pie out of the oven first.”

He keeps up the playful flirting while they work. For a great part of the time it works as prime distraction, Michael’s laugh coming easily and without the slightly strained overtone he’s learned to recognise as a warning sign.

“So I was thinking… when we drop by to visit Liam this summer, we can go and watch Manchester United play at Old Trafford. It’d be a step up from the joke you Americans refer to as football,” Sasha says, putting back ingredients in the cupboard. 

“Hey now. I'm not an American. I'm a Sin-božji,” Michael protests, focused on cutting long stripes of pie dough, creating a fucking beautiful grid on top of the pie. 

He’s never thought of that, that the божја браћа don't think of themselves as natives of a certain country. It makes sense though. Their rule isn’t limited by borders, nor do they know where they were born. “But you like football, right?”

“I do. And I would really like to go watch a game at Old Trafford with you,” Mikey says, sounding almost wistful. He finishes off the perfect grid on the pie by making a pretty bow with the last strip of dough. “There. Done. What do you think?”

Sasha drapes himself against his back, hugs him from behind and puts his chin on his shoulder to look. If Michael’s fought with Lucifer, it’s what he needs. “Prettiest pie I ever saw,” he says and means it. The things Michael can do with a knife never cease to amaze. 

Suddenly Mikey twists around in his arms, hooks a hand behind his neck and pulls him down for a kiss. It’s hungry and demanding―needy, like he _has_ to have more, and needs it right the fuck _now_. The move takes him by surprise. But what Mikey wants, Mikey gets. 

He hardly minds.

* * *


	49. I Hate...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is trying to gather the strength to tell Aleksandr he has to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:**  
>  **\- self harm!**  
>  \- hallucinations  
> \- blood kink  
> \- angst  
> \- severe mental illness  
> \- Michael POV
> 
> **Notes:**  
>  Feel free to skip this chapter if self-harm is a trigger for you. It's not plot heavy, except it expands on Michael's character. But it can be skipped.

* * *

**2012**

* * *

Wednesday February 16th

Both nightstand lights are on. He’s lying in bed. Naked. The blankets kicked down by his feet. His skin still smells of Lexi’s sweat and sex. He’s pushed for more. Too much. Enough for Aleksandr to remark on it, to protest. _Eyy. You’re a fucking horndog, Mikey. You’ve been poppin Mr. Blues, or what?_ Like he’d need Viagra with Lexi around. It’s a fucking joke. _I ain’t as young as I used to, if you get what I’m saying? You want to keep this shit up we’re going to have to get some girls over for your benefit._ He doesn’t want to fuck mudmonkey girls right now. He just wants to get a few more moments of the two of them before he tells Aleksandr he has to go.

I’ve got to tell him.

Now.

Fuck.

I’ve got to tell him.

Come on. Man up.

**Just fucking tell him.**

The darkness lurks in the corners of his eyesight, the walls warps and warbles, shrinks in towards him. There’s no use trying to leave the room. He knows that. He’s learned. When the world presses in on him there is no escape. Being outside is worse. Trees reach for him and the sky comes hurdling. If he’s still the walls won’t crush him. And if they did? He doesn’t see how that would be a bad thing. He remembers a time before the darkness. Before he started seeing things. Hearing things. 

Voices whisper at him but he can’t hear what they’re saying, he just get the general feel of what they want. Accusations. Demands. Scornful laughter. Taunting.

It gets worse every year. He hates it. 

Or maybe he just hates.

He can hear the radio playing. Aleksandr left the bathroom door open and has been singing along to every fucking song while he’s been in the shower. Now there’s a fucking lovesong playing and it fucks him up. He doesn’t need to get a song imprinted on Aleksandr too. Like Bella’s song wasn't bad enough. Lex sings lowkey and hums the verses, but really _sings_ the chorus. He shouldn’t listen. But he does.

_...And sometimes when we touch, The honesty's too much, And I have to close my eyes, And hide, I want to hold you till I die, Till we both break down and cry, I want to hold you till the fear in me subsides…_

The whispering voices all laugh at him now. It’s a joke. It’s all on him.

He hates music. Hates it. 

Memories key into songs too easily. The good ones hurt as much as the bad ones do. 

He hates that he now knows that Lexi sings off key normally, but carries a tune perfectly in the shower, when he sings from his toes. He hates that he knows that Lexi will take carefree little dance steps to the radio when he cooks. He hates that Lex has seen him cry about a baby bird falling from its nest as a child, because he couldn’t reach the nest to put it back. He hates that Lex grabbed him and hoisted him up so he could put it back, when most croats would have ignored him or reported the wrongful behaviour to _Otac_. He hates that Lexi made excuses for him so he could play with Bella. He hates that he came home at the age of 21 because he heard that Lexi was stationed back at home. Hates that Lexi stood up to _Otac_ , refusing the direct order to be amongst those croats that carried out Luci’s punishment―killing Baby―with the excuse that he would not do anything any of the божја браћа would consider treasonous, including Lucifer. He hates that Lexi has made him feel like there’s a way out, a respite, ever since he was a child. Hates Lex for looking at him a certain way―proud, fond―every time he fails to act like a браћа should. 

He’s a failure as a браћа. 

The voices knows and agrees. 

He’s not what a бог брат supposed to be. He’s not as well adjusted as his brothers. He’s failed the task of not feeling too many times. He sees starving children and crying mothers on TV and he wants to feed and comfort everyone of them. He sees homeless people and wants to build them houses. He sees animal cruelty and he wants to punish the perpetrators and save the animals. He’s not cut out for this. He knows they’re just mudmonkeys and not worthy of compassion. He’s not really sure why, only knows that to be true. And yet the others look to him as an example, asks his advice.

He fucking **hates** mudmonkeys!

He hates them with a passion. 

They take their freedom for granted. Get to love who they want, work with what they want, have children and pets if they want, go where they want, whenever they want. And what do they do with it? Whine and complain. Neglect. Fuck things up. He'd kill them all. Make them pay.

The whispering voices mumble their agreement. 

If those voices would just _shut the fuck up._

They’re not real.

You hear that? You’re not real! Go away! Leave me alone! 

He rolls off the bed and goes for his knife in his jeans pocket. Recoils when the wall swings inward to bash him. Crawls back to the middle of the bed. Stares frightened at the wall swinging back in place, wobbling. It’s not real but his heart hammers either way. He pushes the button that makes his blade pop out. There’s nobody there to cut, nobody to defend himself from. He knows that. He’s learned. 

Maybe he isn't there either. 

Maybe he's just a figment of imagination too. Dead and gone already.

Maybe. 

Maybe.

Pain blossoms in his thigh as he drags the sharp blade against his skin. His own action takes him by surprise. His heart races and adrenaline flows. Blood wells up, red and bright. 

It’s beautiful. 

His belly feels warm and tight as his body rushes to produce natural painkillers. The darkness and voices disappear between one heartbeat and another. The walls are back to normal. 

He stares mesmerised at the blood welling up from the cut. He feels fucking euphoric. The cut throbs. **He’s real.**

That easy. 

Who knew? 

He breathes raggedly, a feeling bordering on arousal. Light. Floating. But real.

Like being released. He’s alive. The dead don’t bleed.

The dead don’t bleed.

That easy. 

The sound of the shower cuts off in the background. It takes a second to register. 

When he does overwhelming shame and panic hits him. 

Fuck! Lex will see! 

Weak! Stupid! Failure! 

He'll see this. **FUCK!** What have I done?!

Embarrassment. 

The regret is almost choking him. He slaps a hand over the cut to prevent getting blood on the bed, and dives for his T-shirt, trying to stem the bleeding. His heart is pounding so hard it hurts. 

“Why are you bleeding?”

Too late. 

He turns around to see Lex stand in the doorway, looking at him with a concerned frown. He's only wearing a towel and the wetness turns his hair slate gray, plasters it to his forehead. Darker hair makes him look younger.

The shame is nauseating and he fights the reflex to throw up. 

Conceal. Hide. Lie. Don’t let him see. Don’t let him understand.

“I was putting on my jeans and forgot I had my knife in my pocket. Accidentally pushed the button that made the blade pop.” The lie sounds lame even to his own ears. All Aleksandr has to do to get he’s lying is take a look in his jeans pocket. There’s no hole nor blood stains. 

Why am I explaining myself? I’m a браћа, I don’t need to explain myself to anyone save _Otac_. Get a grip.

Understandably, Lexi doesn’t look convinced. “You forgot your knife... _You_ forgot.”

“Hey, I had other things on my mind, okay? You’re fucking distracting.”

Not a lie. Singing in the shower. I hate it. Stop. I can’t handle it. 

I wish I could have watched you sing. I wish you’d sing straight into my skin. 

No. Stop.

Aleksandr’s lips twitch in amusement, like they do when he's holding back mirth and saving it for later.

He hates that he knows that Lexi will save things that amuses him for later. That he'll suddenly laugh about it another day, while he didn’t when the situation took place. 

“Let me see,” Lexi says and takes few steps into the room. 

It’s with dread and ice in his stomach he removes the shirt and uncovers the cut. It’s still fucking bleeding. 

Lexi looks at the blood, smeared by fabric and running freely downward. His nostrils flare and he takes a deep breath through his nose. 

Are you smelling the blood, Lex?

Aleksandr looks back up to meet his eyes. There’s hunger there now. Mischief. His heart stutters. 

Fuck. 

“You want me to kiss it better?” Lexi asks, smirking, challenge in his eyes. Promises, promises.

I always want you to kiss it better.

Did I say that out loud?

No.

Always. Long before a kiss meant what it does today. 

Back when you’d blow gently on cuts and scrapes and kept bandaids on your person, with Batman, pirate skulls, and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles on them to distract us from pain and make us feel cool―proud of our battle scars. _That’s it. Up an at ‘em, Champ._ Long, _long_ before puberty hit and I started noticing you in another way. I always wanted you to kiss it better. Because it felt like―feels like―you could.

He scowls, hiding his wistful thoughts. “I’m not a _child_.”

Lexi’s smirk gets wider. “That’s good. Because what I’ve got in mind isn’t suitable for children,” he says, drops the towel and comes stalking with clear intent. 

Fucking vampire. You really mean it when you say it that I’d look hot drenched in the blood of my enemies, don’t you? 

Saved from shame by Lexi’s mile wide blood kink. He looks down on his bleeding leg with a slight smile. Relieved. 

Well, technically, right now, I _am_ covered by my enemy’s blood.

When Aleksandr hooks an arm around his midriff and throws him on the bed, he makes no resistance, already getting hard. Lexi’s darker sides gets to him as much as his idealistic streaks, still pure after decades of working as a croat.

I’ll tell him tomorrow. 

Just one more day. 

Two, tops.

Then I’ll tell him.

* * *


	50. Don't do this!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha is blindsided by Michael.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this chapter. Also, a big thanks to my Beta Mizz_kitty21 for her help. :) I'm truly grateful for it!
> 
> Also, if there's anyone confused, when Mikey thinks "Lex" or "Lexi", he means Aleksandr. I think you must have figured it out by now, but if you didn't, now you know.

* * *

**2012**

* * *

Friday February 18th

Sasha doesn’t know what Mikey and Luci fought about a couple of days ago, all he knows is that whatever it was made Michael very clingy. He’s barely left Sasha’s side these last few days. He’s even stayed the nights, sleeping in the same bed, albeit too far off to touch. _That_ is a good thing. Sasha thinks it might have been too much if Mikey needed _constant_ physical reassurance. It’s weird enough as it is. Especially as he's woken up to find Michael awake and watching him every day now. It makes him uncomfortable, but he can deal. He’s dealt with worse. All-in-all his company is pleasant and keeps Sasha from going mad with boredom. Because prolonged downtime is the worst. He may fuss and complain about some jobs, but the truth of the matter is that he needs something to do. (Although this is a fuckton better than to act as a bodyguard to any of the corporate божја браћа, when you have to stand still for hours at end and be a fly on the wall. His knee feels stiff and achey just thinking about it.)

Mikey hasn't taken any low tier jobs, which supposedly is a good thing. It’s just that Sasha isn’t cut out for downtime, unless he knows something is coming up soon enough. 

Anna is still hanging in there according to Doug. If she hasn't kicked the bucket in a couple of days, he’s planning to dress up as a doctor and sneak in there to check on her. He needs to do _something._

Maybe he should start tailing Sam Winchester, to see what kind of relationship he has with Lucifer? Just because Luci likes the boy doesn’t mean the sentiment is returned. He can’t exactly tail a бог брат. So it's a good idea. It'll give him something to do when Mikey is busy.

Mikey is currently in the basement, using it as his office. Sasha heads downstairs. As a Croatoan you're not supposed to ask questions or care about _why_ you’re given a certain order. That’s gone down the drain these days. With all he's learned about the unrest amongst the божја браћа since he came here, he’s real fucking invested in the internal politics of the _Porodica._ He needs to get the Mikey/Luci conflict resolved, and wants to find out exactly how much distrust has been growing amongst the other brothers. How close they are to civil war.

Michael’s pacing back and forth, holding his phone to his ear. When he sees Sasha he makes a discontent _blah blah_ gesture with his hand. Sasha lays down on the couch, grabs his pendant to run it in the seam of his lips, and watches Mikey pace. Michael does a full body eyeroll before he starts talking in Russian, revealing Babyface to be on the line. Mikey should have gone to Russia instead. He’s brilliant at long term tactics. Babyface? Not so much. Babyface tends to forget that sometimes you need to use the carrot as well as the stick. He’s a bit too full of himself even for a бог брат.

He should really not be thinking about strategy for how the божја браћа should be ruling. 

Mikey hangs up. His phone rings again as soon as he does. This time he's chatting away in Portuguese, talking to Saul most likely. Sasha doesn’t understand the language so he drops his pendant, closes his eyes and goes into a half slumber. He drowsily opens his eyes when Mikey hangs up again, just in time to jerk his legs away as Mikey drops into the couch beside him with a heavy sigh. “I swear, my brothers are morons sometimes,” Mikey says and runs a hand over his face. When Sasha remains quiet Mikey turns his head and scowls at him. “Aren’t you going to refute me?”

Sasha smirks. “All the божја браћа are exceedingly intelligent and very talented within their chosen field,” he says in a diplomatic tone of voice.

Mikey snorts in derisory amusement. “Dude. No need to hold your punches. We’re off the record.”

“...But when they act outside their fields, they sometimes make less than wise decisions,” Sasha adds, staying somewhat diplomatic. 

Mikey chuckles and shakes his head. He’s protective of his brothers. It’s one thing admitting thinking one of them had bad taste in clothes (and fucking everything), another thing freely speaking one’s mind about the божја браћа inherent personalities and their actions. Sasha might have admitted he wouldn’t mind putting a bullet in the back of some of their heads, but that was when he was certain Mikey was going to kill him after the fight with Lucifer. The only reason Mikey even tolerates his criticism of _Otac_ , is because of Sasha’s fierce loyalty towards Michael’s brothers. Sasha is too sober to push his luck in that department. 

Mikey runs a hand over his face again. “I’m thinking of transferring to the Seraphims. The conflict between me and Luce is tearing the team apart… and, I’m having a hard time coping to be honest. Nobody can give the cold silent treatment like Luci can. It’s like the windows frosting over when he enters the room.”

“Maybe some time and space will help heal the split between you.”

“That’s what I’m thinking. Plus, it’s Luci’s dream to take this little team and restore it to glory. I’m making it crumble by being here. Our conflict is making it crumble. I don’t…” Michael sighs. “I don’t want to stand between him and his dream. I’ll try to figure out a solution while I’m away from here.”

“A change of scenery will do us good,” Sasha says, thinking a bigger city would give him more to do during downtime. Even security detailing would be more fun, since the _Porodica_ -owned team played in the ChHL, had more fans, more action going on around them.

Michael hums noncommittally and runs his tongue over his teeth while side eyeing Sasha. “It’s good that you feel that way, because you’re not coming,” he says after a prolonged pause.

Sasha frowns and sits up straight. “What?”

“You’re being transferred to Saul. You’re leaving tomorrow. It’s already been set up.”

Sasha’s brain refuses to understand for a beat. It feels like he’s getting dosed by a bucket of ice water. He feels hot and cold all over, a lump in his stomach and in his throat. “You’re sending me _away_?”

“Yes,” Mikey answers dismissively, but he’s pointedly not looking at Sasha.

“No. No no no. Don’t do that. Anna isn’t even dead yet! You can’t do that!” His system is being flooded with the same adrenaline rush as if he’d been attacked by an enemy, but his heart is beating faster than it would during an actual fight. He had not seen this coming. Not when Mikey had settled down and become calmer since he accepted their friendship. Certainly not with how clingy Mikey had been these last couple of days.

“I can do whatever fuck I want to, Aleksandr. Me and Doug are both here and we will make sure Anna doesn’t magically recover. Your job here is done.” Michael is calmly staring up at him, but his voice is tight. 

And when the fuck did he stand up and fist his hands at his sides? Why the fuck does it feel like the ground suddenly opened up underneath his feet? “Come on, Mikey. You don’t want to send me away. You know that. We can talk about this. Please. You need me.” 

Michael stands up, the mask has slipped over his features like a shield. “What I want has nothing to do with it. This is too dangerous. Being together puts both me and you at ris―“

“I can protect us, Michael. I swear, I’ll keep you safe. Don’t worry about me. Nobody will know. Just don’t send me away. It’s better for both of us if I stay. Better for you.” He has no idea where this pathetic desperation is coming from, why it’s so strong it makes him beg.

“It’s an order, _croat_. The decision has been made.” The word ‘croat’ feels like a whiplash.

He feels fucking betrayed. The feeling is vaguely like when he discovered Castiel was alive after the fire. He blames his uncharacteristic outburst of emotion on that. Anger quickly replaces the desperate feeling. He wants to plant his fist in Mikey’s face, arm twitching with the impulse. But no matter how you twist and turn it, Mikey is a бог брат, and he’s just fucking property. Decades of obedience makes him snap into the pose of a soldier at ease―withholding his violent impulse―chin high, focus on a spot on the wall behind Mikey, while shoving anything resembling a true emotion as far back in his mind as he can.

“Aleksandr,” Michael says softly. “Listen to me. It’s for the best.” He reaches out to touch Sasha’s upper arm, but Sasha jerks away from the touch, closing his eyes and slamming up every mental wall he can muster―a nonverbal ‘ **DON’T TOUCH ME!** ’. It’s all he can do not to throw a punch or yell at Mikey for being a stupid fucking insolent brat who doesn’t know his own good.

Since he has his eyes closed, shutting Mikey out, he doesn’t see how his move shatters Michael’s mask for a beat. He misses the moment Mikey looks absolutely crushed by Sasha’s recoil, or how his hand hovers a while before he lowers it again. He does hear Michael swallow though.

“Permission to take a walk, Sir?” Sasha asks, voice flat and devoid of feelings, cold. He needs to get away from here to get his rampant emotions fully under control.

“Permission granted. Be back before 20:00.” Michael’s voice is as flat as his own but without the coldness.

Sasha opens his eyes and steps away from Mikey. “Бог брат,” he says with a curt nod, turns and stalks to the stairs without looking back.

As soon as he’s upstairs he rams his fist into the nearest wall a couple of times to take out some of his anger and frustration. Then he gets dressed and leaves the house.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the philosophical amongst you, I have a question that I don't know the answer to.
> 
> Do you think Michael had anticipated that Sasha would react so strongly and protest to being sent away?
> 
> I'm genuinely curious. :)


	51. High Shipping Costs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha isn't taking being shipped off very well. Things get more complicated than he anticipated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this chapter. In this AU a certain movie premiered a few months earlier. Just saying.

* * *

**2012**

* * *

Saturday February 19th - Sunday 20th

He shouldn’t care, but he does. He’s pissed at Michael for sending him away. He’ll be out of reach so he won’t be able to influence the Mikey/Luci conflict. And to add insult to injury, he had finally started to feel fully content with life. That loneliness that’s been plaguing him had started to recede, almost vanished. While he would have prefered to keep sex out of it, he’d accepted that Mikey needed that level of physicality. He could deal. He wasn’t the only one who’d gotten something out of their friendship. Mikey had been calmer, more stable since the showdown at Christmas Eve. They’d found a balance. And now he’s being sent away before Anna’s even fucking dead!

Sasha rubs his angel pendant in the seam of his lips, brushing the ring he wears on his index finger repeatedly with his lips as his hand moves back and forth. The ring amuses him. If it’s supposed to burn the skin of monsters, it isn’t doing a good job since neither he or Mikey flinches from it. Although he’s curious about what kind of metal the dull gray stripe is, that feels warm to the touch. It’s not uncomfortable and definitely can’t be counted as a burn. On the contrary, having the faux-warm piece of metal on his finger is pleasant. He keeps his gaze locked out of the cab window, watching the wintery landscape rolling by on the way to the airport. Within 24 hours he’ll be in Rio de Janeiro, enjoying 25℃ and probably a shitload of bugs. Everything’s been set up. He’ll land on Sunday (missing the parade), in the middle of the carnival. It’s his second time in Rio during a carnival. He was surprised the last time that it was more difficult to get laid during the carnival since there were all these gorgeous almost naked ladies around. However, the carnival was more about singing and dancing than sex. This time , all he felt was relief. He wondered if it was because he was getting old. Or maybe it had more to do with Castiel, Jody, and Michael. People he’d connected with and feel something for. 

_Michael can go to Hell. There is no sound reason to ship me off to be stationed somewhere else. I could have come along to Michael’s new location. It is fucking normal for a Бог брат to have at least one bodyguard, usually several. He should have kept me close._

Lucifer and Michael were the odd ones out not to have several Croatoans around, and Mikey supposedly only because he’d followed Luci away from active duty. Sasha quenches the wave of bitterness. He doesn’t _want_ to understand why he’s being shipped off. Maybe he could, if he tried. But he’s angry and feels fucking rejected on a deeply personal level. It feels like something precious to him is being stolen and he’s not in the mood to be understanding.

Michael had given him his fake passport this time and it annoys Sasha even more. Mikey’s got shitty humour and shouldn’t be allowed to choose aliases. Ever. _Fucking twerp._ “I thought this would suit you since you’re so idealistic,” he’d said with a mischievous grin. _Like hell I am._ Sasha takes the passport out of a pocket and flips it open to look at it. `**Steve Rogers**` is the name staring back at him. He makes a dissatisfied noise and puts it back, glares at the cabdriver who throws him a glance through the rearview mirror.

The cab rolls into the airport parking lot and Sasha automatically scans the grounds for, well, anything. He pinpoints several people that are threats. Not to him personally by all means, but there’s always predators of different kinds at airports this size. People out to steal bags, rob long term parked cars, pick pockets, and―his least favourite―snatchers. Those who hunt for the trafficking gig. Sasha has honed in on a likely kidnapper while he’s still unloading his bag out of the trunk and paying the driver. The guy’s been on the lookout and Sasha’s pretty sure they both spot the perfect mark at the same time. She’s hard to miss. Young, early twenties perhaps, rag tag colourful clothes with different prints and symbols he recognises as fandom apparel. Her backpack is full of buttons from said fandoms. Her other bag has broken and clothes lie scattered all over the snowy sidewalk while people pass, not lifting a finger to help. And as if her colourful outfit wasn’t enough her most outstanding feature is flaming red hair. Same colour as Anna’s.

He has no way of knowing if this guy is working for the _Porodica_ or not, and usually he might not have interfered with this kind of business on the off chance that the guy is. Today however he’s in a pissy mood and since the girl reminds him of Anna he sets off in her direction as soon as he has slung his bag over his shoulder. He’s not looking at her though, he’s looking at the other man that’s approaching her. He switches to fight mode, letting his fight face shutter down―making his whole body radiate his hostile intent. The other man is almost by her, making ready to switch on the charm and makes one last scan of the area to note possible witnesses. His eyes goes round when he sees Sasha coming towards him and he physically backpedals, raising his hands in a placating gesture before turning and hurrying towards a car, throwing looks over his shoulder to see if Sasha’s following. It could have been comical if Sasha hadn’t been gagging for a fight and preferred a confrontation.

The girl is oblivious of the unspoken turf war that just went on over her. She’s on her knees with a crestfallen expression trying to scrape her clothes back in her broken bag. By the time Sasha gets to her the other ‘hunter’ has driven off and Sasha lets his body language turn amicable. He crouches down and starts helping her, making her look up with a grateful smile. “Thanks.”

He smiles back at her. “Don’t mention it. I’m surprised to see people just passing by. Are you coming or going?”

“Going. I’m flying to Rio de Janeiro.”

“Really? What a coincidence. So am I. Business or pleasure? Maybe a redundant question considering we’ll get there during the carnival.” He hands her the last of the clothes with a cheeky smile.

“Pleasure obviously. I’ve heard the chicks there are hot,” she says with a grin and waggles her eyebrows suggestively.

“Chicks are hot everywhere. They just wear less clothes where it’s warm, you get what I’m sayin’?” Sasha says and winks at her, oddly relieved she outed herself as a lesbian and thus doesn’t put any expectations on his shoulders.

“Which is a good enough reason to go.”

“I hear you. Give me your bag and I’ll see if I can fix it,” he says. She hands it over without question. Too trusting. It’s just the zipper that has broken and he fixes it easily enough.

“Thanks,” she says when she gets it back. They get to their feet and she extends a hand to shake. “I’m Charlie Bradbury.”

“Hi. I’m Steve Rogers,” he says with an amused smile.

Her jaw drops. “You’re shitting me?”

Sasha makes a sturgeon face. “Says so on my passport.”

“Can I see?”

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” he says with a wink.

She giggles and pulls her passport out of her pocket. They make a trade, and Sasha studies the passport. He’s sure it’s a fake. He’d bet a good amount of money on it. But if it is, it’s as skillfully done as his own.

“Oh my god. This is awesome! But you don't look like a Steve.”

He scoffs, feigning offense. “Here I was, thinking fate had introduced me to my future gay best friend. And what do I get?”

She’s unsure if he’s serious or not, expression somewhere between contrite and amused. “I didn't mean anything by it. I just think you look more like a Jay, or a, I dunno, John?”

His lips twitch in amusement. “Telling a man he looks like a John isn’t the best thing to do if your intention isn’t to insult.”

“Oh my god. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking.”

“Don’t worry. Gryffindors are known to rush into things head first and banners high, are they not?” he asks with a grin, referencing her scarf and hoping he got the colours right.

That seems to do the trick. She starts chatting excitedly about Harry Potter, asking him questions about the movies (and books) he hardly knows how to answer. What house he thinks he'd be in, (Slytherin) who’s his favourite character, (Tom Riddle) what he think would be his favourite class (potion making), whom he'd like to date (they’re all children. I don’t date children), yes but if you have to choose? (Lucius Malfoy, he’s got pretty hair, pride, power, and dignity. ……. … _If_ he was a woman, that is.)

“What seat are you in?” Charlie asks when they’re in line to check in their luggage. 

He tells her without much thought.

“Oh.” Charlie looks at her own ticket, thinking for a bit. A stray glance at her ticket tells him she's flying couch, not first class like him. (If Mikey thinks _that_ will make it up to him for sending him away, he’s sorely mistaken. Fucking asshole.) Charlie looks up. “I just remembered, um, there's something I've gotta do. Catch you later,” she says and makes an odd hand gesture (from star trek?), before scurrying away. 

Sasha frowns. There was something off about that, so he follows her with his gaze. She stops by one of those stand alone round high tables where people can write on luggage tags and such, and pulls up a laptop out of her backpack. He gets a glimpse of the airline website before the line moves too far for him to see what she's up to. He loses interest when it's his turn. 

He doesn’t see Charlie again until he’s boarded the plane and is comfortably seated. He’s closed his eyes and resumed thinking bitter and less than flattering thoughts about one particular foolish бог брат when suddenly he hears Charlie exclaim “Wow. I didn’t know we were seated next to each other!”

He opens his eyes and looks at her in vague surprise, seeing her wave her boarding card at him with a big (phony) _I-can’t-believe-this-happened_ expression. She really has to work on her poker face. At least her behaviour earlier makes sense to him now. He smirks and pats the seat beside him. When she sits down he says “So you’re a hacker, huh?”

“ _What?_ No! I’m. Why’d. No. I―“ 

Sasha laughs at her _Oh-no-I’m-totally-busted_ face and her floundering. “You need to work on your acting skills little girl. Relax. I’m not gonna tell on you. Why so eager to sit with me, anyway?”

Charlie looks contrite.”It’s my first time flying. I’m nervous. And you were nice.”

“Not everyone who’s nice to you means well.”

“I know, I know. But I think I could tell if someone was bad, you know?”

Sasha’s lips twitch in amusement. It almost makes him want to show her how wrong she is. Give her a little scare, rough her up a little bit and steal her laptop once they land. Just to teach her how wrong she is. Pull her into a toilet, choke her out. Stay close enough to see to that nobody else preys upon her when she’s down. Leave unseen when she wakes up. Just to show her how easy it is. She’d feel the loss of the laptop since she’s a hacker, but he wouldn’t take anything else. She’d grow a healthy suspicion towards strangers and stand a better chance against those that really wanted to do her harm in the future. 

Of course, she could be a plant. If someone wanted to get at him, it’d actually be smarter to use someone like Charlie. A person who screamed _PREY_ and could trigger his protective side or the urge to hunt. It would take a quick injection with a needle if he fell asleep beside her and he’d never wake up again. It could look like he’d had a heart attack in his sleep. She’d be an even better option than a honeytrap trying to seduce him. But it’d also take somebody that knew him very well, to be smart enough to go for someone like Charlie to take him out. Someone like Michael.

_No sleeping on this flight then. Ugh. Fucking Michael. I should’ve beat the crap out of him for discarding me like this. Fucking traitorous swine._

He doesn’t really think Charlie’s a plant, but you never know. She probably is just as blue eyed and lost as she appears to him. “You’re probably right,” he indulges Charlie. “So. We’ve got fourteen hours to kill. What made you decide to travel?”

Charlie talks a lot. She’s exuberant and bubbly. Her dad died in a car accident when she was ten and her mother wound up in a wheelchair. She’s been living with her mom, taking care of her, staying at home most of the time, then working two dead end jobs to provide for the medical bills. Her mother recently died, leaving Charlie at loss for what to do with herself. After a few months of mourning she decided to quit her jobs and go on an adventure. She’s been seeking solace in fandom culture ever since her parents accident. She also plays a lot of roleplaying games and spent a lot of time with her computer. She’s ‘ _kinda good with computers._ ’ (Her words, not his.) As for her computer skills, she’s autodidact. They discuss movies and television series. He doesn’t have to answer too many questions as she does most of the talking. He soaks up knowledge of the fandom culture like a sponge. It might seem like useless knowledge, but what little he knew about Harry Potter had endeared him to her, and all this useless knowledge might come in handy at some point in the future.

She falls asleep for a stretch of the flight. He sits looking out the window, dragging his pendant in the seam of his lips, twisting his hand so he brushes his lips against Mikey’s ring with every drag. He misses Michael already. It’s funny how you can go long stretches of time without missing someone, but the moment they’re out of reach it becomes an ache. He’s aching. Hollow. He works himself up to a bitter anger again about being shipped off. It’s easier than trying to figure out why he’s hurting to this level.

_Spoiled fucking brat. I don’t deserve being treated this way! I’ve given far more to you than any_ бог брат _has the right to claim from me. You don’t do this to a friend! We’re supposed to be friends. Closer than friends should be. Fuck you! **FUCK YOU!**_

He’s got a lump in his throat that shouldn’t be there and wants to hit something. Charlie’s tipped onto his shoulder and he wishes he could have her sleeping with her head in his lap so he could pet her hair, calming himself down. Images of Mikey lying in the hospital bed flickers before his inner eye and his gut clenches with worry. If Mikey keeps taking lower tier jobs, being suicidally reckless, without anyone there to have his back… 

_Nope. Not going there. He doesn’t want me, I don’t fucking need him. You go get yourself killed and see if I fucking care. Asshole._

When Charlie wakes up it’s a blessing. She talks about roleplaying games like Dungeons & Dragons, explaining the concept. Sasha thinks it sounds like an excellent way to teach children strategy and problem solving, along with boosting their creative thinking. She explains character classes and asks which he’d like to be (Rogue, stealth and cunning takes you further than anything else), what race (Human, no wait. Does half-elves live longer? Half-elf.), what job he’d have (Are there cops in D&D? No? Investigator. Yeah, that’s sounds good. I’d be that.) and then proceeds to tell him of her favourite character to play. Charlie is very passionate and he’s grateful for his impulse to protect her. He’s not going to harm her when they land. He doesn’t want to spoil her innocence, even if he’d be doing her a favour. Maybe the world will not chew her up and spit her out. He hopes so.

They keep company all the way to luggage check out. But when they step out to the public pick-up area of the terminal Sasha gets a minor shock. 

“Woah. Are you famous or something?” Charlie gawkingly asks as she spots the entourage waiting for him (One of which is holding a sign saying “Rogers”).

“Or something…” Sasha answers distractedly, holding back the impulse to gawk himself. “Charlie, I need to leave you now, but I wish you a nice vacation. And take care of yourself. Remember, not all who’re nice to you wants your best, you get what I’m sayin?”

“Sure, big guy.” She surprises him with a hug and then stands watching when he saunters off towards the at least twenty Croatoans waiting. He recognizes a few faces, sees the carved ‘Croatoan’ on some others who wear wife-beaters. He jumps to the conclusion the rest are Croatoans too. Two are heavily armed police. He feels an ounce of fear and walks with the most blasé swagger he can muster. As if this was normal and didn’t faze him. Inside he worries Mikey sold him out and he’s being taken to his death. The expression on the waiting men does not match that option though. He sees awe, curiosity, blankness, excitement. Those who wear grim faces are facing outward, directing their menace towards curious onlookers wondering what the fuss is about. He spots Flower who seems hard pressed to contain excitement.

The moment he reaches the divider the Croatoans snap to attention like soldiers, someone taking his luggage with a deferential “Sir,” and another one informing him his ride is waiting outside. He follows the man leading the way, while the others take up position around him. Running now would be of no use. If he’s to be executed or interrogated his best option at this point is try talking himself out of it. But none of this makes any sense to him. With an entourage like this, faking a good vibe wouldn’t be necessary. And since there was two cops (Croatoans too, for sure) along they could have taken him the moment he stepped outside the plane. It’s all wrong. This was an escort worthy of a бог брат.

That thought is reinforced when he sees his ride is an armoured limo.

_What the everloving fuck???_

Two men get in with him, the others get into other cars, the two cops flanking his limo on motorcycles while the cars drive ahead or behind. 

“Did you have a good trip, Sir?” The youngest of the men with him asks.

_Really? You’re doing that?_

“It was fine. Care to introduce yourselves?” Sasha asks, his nervousness making him sound annoyed and impatient. He keeps his face passive.

“I’m Gabriel Silva,” the older man hastens to inform Sasha. He looks about forty five. “Head of security for Saul. This is Lucas Sousa, my second in command,” he says and gestures at the younger man, who gives an affirmative nod. They both look to be Brazilian natives. “It’s an honour to meet you.”

_An honour? Did the world go mad while I was sleeping?_

“Aleksandr Chaadayev, but call me Sasha,” Sasha says and offers his hand to shake. They’re sitting opposite him in the limo and reach out to shake in order of rank. He wonders why the fuck the two highest ranking Croatoans in Saul’s security staff is here in the car with him. Even if they were afraid he’d make a slip it doesn’t make sense. He can’t get the pieces of the puzzle to fit. “It’s been a while since I was in this part of the world. Can you give me a status update?”

To his surprise, they do, no questions asked. He gets a quick rundown on the private security of both Saul and Tyler, a brief list of the current points of interest ‘for someone of your status’, whatever hell that means, and what projects are of import at this moment. Amongst other things there’s some drug cartels who’re trying to infringe on their turf. His mind goes on autopilot, sorting out what needs to be done, how many men it’d take and what their speciality needs to be. Making a mental map of where he would put priority based on the rudimentary information he gets. It’s not really his job, supposedly, until he’s told what his job is. If he’s really here to work that is.

They’re nearing a huge four story mansion high up in the hills, with a fucking stunning view over the bay. As they pass through the gates Sousa asks “Sir? Is it true that Marco Garcia met you at the Heart?” and gets an elbow discreetly in the ribs by Silva (but Sasha sees the reprimand either way.)

“Who? You mean Flower?”

“Flower?”

“Yeah. Got made by _Otac_ himself. Was with my welcome party at the airport. That guy?”

“Yes, him. He’s called _Flower_?”

_He is now_ , Sasha thinks, lips quirking in a faint smile. “Yes. And I met him alright. How so?”

Sousa shakes his head. “Sorry, Sir. I thought he was full of shit, trying to brag.”

Which is weird too, and fills Sasha with foreboding. Because why the fuck would anyone brag about meeting _him_? He thinks of the way he’d been met with at the Heart when he accompanied Mikey there. Flower had said people talked about him. The other Croatoans had treated him with respect and deference. If this was the same thing it wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

When they arrive, he’s led inside up to the third floor and let out to the patio deck. Silva and Sousa stays inside and closes the doors behind him. There’s one of those big pools that go right over the cliff drop and Tyler is currently swimming in it. Sasha’s relieved to see _him_ and not Saul. His trepidation over possibly being sold out by Mikey disappear in a heartbeat. ”бог брат,” he says and goes to stand by the edge of the pool. No longer on high alert he’s starting to feel the heat, as he's dressed in winter clothing and it's well above 20°C. It’s uncomfortable, but no worse than being in full armour gear. He can deal. 

Tyler grins and heaves himself up on the edge of the pool beside Sasha. “Aleksandr, you old coon. Glad to see you could make it. We've been begging Mikey to send you over for quite some time now.” He gets to his feet, extends a wet hand, and when Sasha takes it, pulls him in for a short backslapping (even wetter) hug.

“Would you like to explain the circus greeting me, when I arrived at the airport?” Sasha asks, gesturing towards the doors when Tyler lets go. 

Tyler drags a hand through his hair to make it lie in a backslick, favoured by the filthy rich. He's slim and tanned, fit enough to be interesting to the ladies, but not fit enough for a fighter. For a бог брат he’s always been crap at the violent parts of their job. His hair reaches almost to his shoulders, light brown with blond highlights that aren't caused by the sun. He shares Luci and Addi’s high cheekbones, and Mikey’s twinkling, wakeful blue eyes. 

Tyler chuckles lowly and smirks. “Sure I can. We’re riding a wave _you_ created. Seems you've built quite a reputation for yourself. We've just added to it.” Sasha makes a face, making Tyler laugh. He slaps a hand to Sasha’s shoulder. “Come on, let's go have a drink on the deck. We've got a lot to talk about. And you must be roasting in that jacket. Can’t wait to get out of it, can you?”

A little while later they’re seated in lounge chairs with a drink each, overlooking the bay. Sasha’s removed most of his clothes, barefoot, in jeans and a tee, both of them wearing sunshades. It’s far less formal than he'd expected while not in closed quarters. But a suggestion like this from a бог брат equals an order. If it had been Saul, Sasha still would be nervous he was being lulled into a false sense of security. But not with Tyler.

“So,” Tyler says. “This conversation is going to be strictly off the records. You’re wondering why you’re being treated like a general?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“It’s because from now on, you are one. You’ll have luxury quarters and almost all the perks we do. You’ll take orders from none but us. Everyone has been informed of your status.”

“With all due respect, Sir, but this is bullshit. A Croatoan is a Croatoan.”

Tyler grins. “Bullshit indeed. But we're just going with the flow. You know as well as I do, that ain't the truth. Rank has always been settled internally amongst croats. We've treated you more or less the same either way. It’s been working very well, until a couple of years ago when we started noticing more croats going rogue. No more of that.” Tyler takes a sip of his drink and scrutinizes Sasha. 

“How does that tie into the circus out there?” Sasha asks and sips his own drink. He doesn’t agree that all Croatoan are treated equally. The _Porodica_ always had a knack for rewarding brilliance. But this was different. 

“When we noted the increase in rogues we put our ear to the ground, trying to figure out why it's happening. It came to our attention that some of you are considered legends amongst your peers. Sadly, most are not living legends. But there are a few. Red John, The Bachelor, Flipswitch, Bo Bunny, Blade… Heard of any of them?”

“Yeah, sure. Worked with all of them at one point or another.”

“How about… _The Immortal_?” Tyler says with a pointed look and a tiny lopsided smirk, Then throw his head back, laughing at the grimace Sasha makes. “I can see that you have,” he says and pats Sasha on the knee.

“I fucking _hate_ that nickname.”

“If you hadn’t been so keen on surviving you wouldn’t have gotten it,” Tyler says and winks at him. “Point is, you’re famous. The common denominators you guys all share, is that you can both lead, follow, and work on your own, you have been stationed all over the globe, at our home, _and_ you make an impression on your peers. So we decided to harness that fame, magnify it by making sure our croats have heard us talk about you, and raise your standing. If you log into the database you’ll find a slight alteration of your ID number. There’s now an A in front of it.”

“And that would stand for...?”

Tyler sniggers, looking like a little shit. Whatever it is, Sasha doesn’t need to hear it to know he isn’t going to like it. “Officially? Nothing except a note of rank, to inspire croats to want to get on the A-list, so to speak. Inspire them to do better, work harder, be more loyal. Unofficially though… you’re going to love this, it was Mikey’s idea.” (He’s _not_ going to love it.) “It’s from the movie that premiered last month. The Avengers.”

Sasha slaps a hand over his face and groans, once again making Tyler laugh. “Fuck’s sake. _That’s_ why I was travelling like Steve Rogers?”

Tyler holds out his arms to his sides, palms upward, sporting a shiteating grin. “The first avenger.”

“It’s not fucking funny,” Sasha says, scowling.

“It’s hilarious. Besides, as Saul pointed out, every group of people needs their heros and idols, people to look up to and aspire to be. Even croats apparently. They can never become a бог брат, but they could become you. Who better to start out with than a simple street urchin from Leningrad? You’d already carved your reputation. As we found out, you croats are bunch of gossip girls. We’re using it to our advantage. Be extraordinary and loyal and you can make the A-list like _The Immortal_ did. You’re the perfect poster boy.” Tyler is obviously having a field day with this. He pronounces ‘the immortal’ like it’s a great joke. It _is_ a joke, only, it’s not funny since it’s on Sasha’s expense. “Besides, according to Mikey, you’re very idealistic, so the Captain America analogy is fitting.”

_No wonder Mikey sent me to another continent to have this bomb dropped on me. If he was closer I’d kick his fucking ass._

His resentment of the sentiment must have shown on his face, because Tyler laughs again and gives him a playful shove on the shoulder. “Don’t be like that. It’s funny,” Tyler says. “Even Demi and Lulu, who were against this idea, thought it was funny.”

_Of course Demeter and Babyface would think it’s funny. Sadistic swine._

Sasha makes note of those two names though, noting that they opposed allowing Croatoans rise in power. If he thought about it, it wasn’t a bad idea though, if he hadn’t been one of the chosen ones to carry the burden. It would have some advantages, powerwise. Not over the божја браћа, but over his colleagues. However…

“You realise this paints a huge fucking target on my back. And all because you think poster boys would keep croats from going rogue? There’s always been a few duds, and this won’t help,” Sasha says and drains his drink in one go. This was certainly going to provoke some people.

Tyler’s expression turns grave and he refills Sasha’s drink unasked. “No. You’re right. And now we’re getting to the reason I wanted this conversation off the record. My talent is numbers, as you well know. I love math, always have. And I’m good at spotting patterns. A while ago I started seeing a pattern that didn’t add up.” He sits up straight and swings his legs over the side of the sunlounger so that he’s facing Sasha. “Normally when a croat goes rogue they try to double cross us somehow. Make a big heist to retire and live well. The usual. Sometimes they’re plants from competitors. Rarely. What’s alarming is, that since a few years ago we started seeing runners that just went AWOL for no apparent reason. It’s happened before occasionally. Usually turns out the guy found a girl and wanted to settle down away from the lifestyle. Not so now. Another anomaly is that most rogues used to come from posts far removed from us, who’d ever only seen a браћа when they were cleared for initiation. Now most of them come from places like this, centers of power. Not only that, the guys going rogue are ones that has been with us for a long time, not showing any signs of disloyalty. We want to find out why.”

Sasha could tell Tyler that straight away. Because as things look right now, the _Porodica_ is heading for civil war. Бог брат against бог брат. When that happens, the Croatoans are fucked. But to say that, he has to reveal that he knows things he shouldn’t know. He’d have to direct some massive critique against both _Otac_ and the божја браћа. So he keeps his mouth shut about it.

“So what? You want me to track down runners and question them?”

“No. We’ve done that. They don’t talk sense if we manage to catch them alive. Which, by the way, has proven harder than you’d think.”

“No wonder. They know what they can expect if they’re taken alive.”

“Mh. What we are concerned about are not the ones that run. They reveal themselves by going AWOL. What we want to know is if there are rogues that stay amongst us.”

Sasha blinks. “So… what you’re saying is, that the Croatoans now have an internal affairs division, and I’m part of it?” As if his life couldn’t get any worse.

Tyler gives him a tight smile in confirmation. “If you find any rogues, take no action. Needle them for information without rousing suspicion, then report to one of us directly. We’ll decide what action to take.”

The Croatoans has always been self-cleansing. Croatoans hated rogues as much as any бог брат had cause to do. And hunting down a rogue is something most Croatoans would do with glee. But this is different. This is downright spying amongst their ranks. They will say things they shouldn’t about the божја браћа, because, well, the божја браћа are insane. It’s normal for anyone to talk shit about your boss. It doesn’t mean you’d ever think of going rogue. But with spies amongst their ranks, reporting straight to the божја браћа, good men could easily be sold out for things that was basically just gossip and grumblings. “No offense, Sir. But considering that you just raised my rank to―“ Sasha pulls the corner of his lips down in distaste “―the _A-list_ , I doubt any rogue would confide in me. You’re setting me up to fail.”

Tyler gives him a wry smile. “True. So naturally you’re not the only one. However, you might inspire devoted loyalists that don’t dare approach us, to talk to you in hope of currying favour. If you don’t find anything out, so be it. Either way you’ll serve a purpose...” His humour returns, “... _Cap._ ”

Despite himself, Sasha chuckles. “I guess I have no choice in the matter?”

Tyler shakes his head.

“In that case I guess you’d want to conduct an ‘interview’?” It’s the logical conclusion. If he’s to be trusted with this it’s pertinent that _he’s_ to be trusted. He, like any other they’d choose for internal affairs, needs to be 100% loyal. An interview like he’d conducted on Castiel, Sam, and Flower would be prudent. It’d be the first time he’d be under the influence of the drug himself, but he’s fairly certain he’d be able to keep his head in some semblance of control. He knew when it had misfired and how. Personally, he’d done it _before_ he told a prospect any of this, but…

“You’d consent to another one so soon?”

_So soon?_

Sasha keeps his surprise for his face. “Yes. Sure. I’ve got nothing to hide.”

_Except that I let Castiel live, that Lucifer’s got a new “puppy”, and that me and Michael are… were…_ friends _. Fucking asshole. You knew of this and didn’t tell me! How the fuck could you send me away?_ To this! _You knew!_

He chokes down the bitterness, anger, and the sense of longing following in its wake. Keeping a straight face is no problem. 

“Nah. Don’t tell anyone, but I felt kind of bad about forcing you to it the first time. But Michael said you passed with flying colours and I trust his judgement.” Tyler leans back on the lounger again, sipping his drink.

“Fair enough.” So Mikey had told Tyler he’d conducted an interview. Of course he’d want to cover his own ass, hiding the nature of their relationship. “Sir, this doesn’t mean I’m stuck with paperwork from now on does it?”

Tyler sniggers. “Far from it. Mikey said we’d been squandering your talents and that you should be brought into long time operative planning. But we all know you’re at your best on the field. So you’ll be crawling in the mud with the rest, don’t you worry.”

Sasha sips his drink and looks around, contemplating. While this isn’t a pleasing development to him, it could be worse. He can see two guards on the roof above them, but too far away by the corners of the building to have heard the conversation. He thinks this meeting place must have been deliberately chosen just so that they would be seen, just to make sure it doesn’t pass any Croatoans by that they ‘were chummy together’. Gossip would do the rest. He wants to curse. This might cause jealousy and resentment amongst his peers, and he's yet to gauge the general morale at this post. He’s fucked. The божја браћа might even see this as giving him a boon, but he does not. It’s one thing to have a reputation. It’s another thing to be an official favourite. He’ll have to work hard to be seen as one of the guys now, if that's even possible. This, that Tyler is doing by having a drink and relaxing with him, is all a show for the benefit of the other Croatoans. On or off the records. 

As it will turn out, life is lonely at the top.

* * *


	52. Silver Silver, Doubt and a Broken Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 28 March 2012 04:34 AM Anna’s heart fails.

* * *

**2012**

* * *

March 28th

28 March 2012 04:34 AM Anna’s heart fails and Doug performs an emergency cesarean on her. She’s 26 ½ weeks into her pregnancy. Srebro weighs 0.79 kilograms when he’s put in the incubator. He’s hooked up to drips and all manner of apparatus to help keep him alive. Doug doesn’t have high hopes. Nevertheless he calls Mikey.

Mikey is made to wash and put on protective clothing and a face mask before he’s allowed to enter the room. His heart is beating madly. Doug is standing by the incubator, looking down on it with a forlorn expression. He looks up with glossy eyes when Mikey comes in. It scares him.

“Is he dead?”

Doug shakes his head. “No,” he answers and rubs his eyes with a hand. “I’m just being… would you believe me if I say this...” he gestures at his eyes, “...is because I hate to fail, and I anticipate that I will?”

Mikey’s lips curve upward in a fond and relieved little smile under the mask. “No. It’s okay. Can I approach? I’ve been scrubbed up to high heavens.”

Doug waves for him to approach and looks down on the baby again. “I’m a bit out of my depth here, so I’ve flown in a team of specialists. This isn’t exactly virology or standard surgery. His vitals are surprisingly good, but even if he does survive there’s no telling yet if he’s been, no, _how badly_ he’s been damaged by his rough start. For now, all we can do is try keeping him alive.”

Mikey walks up to Doug and looks down on the baby inside the incubator. Breathing seems like an insurmountable task for several moments.

Tiny.

So fucking perfect and tiny!

“Holy shit, he’s tiny!”

That’s Lexi’s son. 

I’m sorry Lex.

“Yes. He doesn’t even weigh a kilo yet. His internal organs haven’t finished forming.” Doug looks at Mikey. “You can touch him if you want.”

“That won’t hurt him? I won’t fuck anything up if I do?”

Doug shakes his head. “No. I think it’d be good for him. Normally he’d be surrounded by human warmth for another sixteen weeks. I can only think of how I feel if I go without being touched for more than three months, and I’m not at a stage where I’m developing like Sreb is.”

“Can’t you find a host to put him in?” Mikey can’t believe his hand isn’t shaking as he slowly, reverently, sticks his hand into one of the holes in the side of the incubator. He very gently strokes the tiny, _tiny_ hand. Srebro is so thin…

Doug chuckles. “If we just wanted to experiment with removing one baby from a mother’s womb and attach another, sure. But that might kill him even if the operation didn’t. If the surrogate mother’s body rejected him… he stands a better chance like this. I don’t want to experiment with Aleksandr’s son.”

Tiny digits on an equally tiny and closes around his finger.

The Earth stops turning.

_THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP_

My cheeks are wet. Why are my cheeks wet? “ _Fuck._ ”

“I know. Me too. Don’t tell them, Mikey. Not _Otac_ , not the rest of our браћа. Please, Mikey?” Doug’s eyes are pleading above the mask.

“I won’t. If anyone asks, Sreb is just one of your projects, right?”

“Right.”

“Can I… can I be alone with him for a while?”

“Sure. I need to eat something and boost my caffeine levels anyway. Wait…” Doug gets a chair and puts it beside the incubator for him, then gives him a kiss on the cheek. “There. Come get me in my office when you’re done.”

Mikey nuzzles his shoulder briefly. “Thanks,” he says before carefully sitting down without dislodging Srebro’s grip on his finger.

The door closes behind Doug and he’s left alone with Sreb. He carefully inserts his other hand into the incubator through the other hole in the side, and places it gently over Sreb’s back. His hand almost engulfs the whole boy, who moves a little at the touch, making his heart flutter.

“Hi…”

Sreb’s arms are barely thicker than his fingers.

“I’m Michael.”

Great. I’m talking to a fetus.

I talk to ghosts too. What’s the fucking difference?

“I know your father. He’d love you more than anything in the whole wide world, if he knew you were alive.”

Don’t die, little one. 

“He’s a fighter. They call him ‘the Immortal’. Can you try be like him, little one? Please, for me? Hold on to life like nothing else. Me and my brother Doug will do everything in our power to help you, but you’ve got to be a fighter like your dad, okay?”

I wonder if he ever thinks of me. I didn’t think he’d get so angry for being sent away. I wonder if he knows how badly I’m aching for his return.

“You want me to tell you about your dad, Srebro? In a roundabout way, you’re named after him.”

You won’t be able to pronounce your name for quite some time. Most of my мали браћа couldn’t say ‘R’ when they were little. You’d probably say _Sjebbjo Ajjent_ when you introduce yourself, not getting why everyone laughs at you when you do. They won’t laugh at you, they’ll laugh because it’s adorable and you make them happy. 

Please, survive so you can fail to pronounce your name, little one.

“I’m going to call you Seb, okay? You’ll be able to say that,” he tells the little boy, carefully stroking his side with the thumb of the hand resting over him.

Seb moves a leg in response.

“Your name is Srebro Argent. Srebro means silver in a lot of languages―Serbian, Croatian, Macedonian, Bosnian. My family comes from Belgrade in Serbia originally, but now we’re spread all over the world. We’re very powerful. Your father works for us….”

Maybe it’s a bit too soon to explain to Seb what the _Porodica_ is. 

It’s not like he’ll understand any of it.

“Anyway, Srebro means silver, and Argent means silver too, but in French. Your dad’s hair is silver, so is his eyes. That’s how you got your name.”

Like he’d understand the concept of languages and countries at this age. Get a grip.

No! I want to talk to him, I’m fucking well going to talk to him!

“Your father is a great warrior, Seb. He’s really tall and strong. He’s fast and agile. And he’s smart. He’s very smart. But that’s not the best part of him… I think the best part of him, is how much he cares. How he’s remained soft and open hearted when life, _we_ , have tried to hammer it out of him.”

Sometimes, when I lay in bed beside him, he’d grab a hold of my hair in his sleep. I don’t think he was aware he was doing it. He wound my hair around his fingers in a firm grip, sighing contentedly. I’d fall asleep within minutes. His grip preventing me from drifting off to bad places. 

I miss your dad so fucking much, little one. I live in that bad place almost 24/7 since he went away.

“He’s a so called Croatoan. You could say they’re our family’s knights. He’s one of the most powerful knights we have. We created a new rank just so we could honour him… That’s not strictly true, but not a lie either. It’s complicated.”

Mikey makes a wry face. The ‘A-list’ had been up for discussion for two years, only getting it’s name the day Mikey agreed to send Aleksandr to South America. Before it’s only been referred to as the _What-to-do-about-those-damned-rogue-croats_ project, and was something all the божја браћа were involved in. It’s a serious problem. Even Luci had gone to Acapulco last year in April to chase down a rogue. And the fuckers are seemingly impossible to take _alive_.

Mikey, despite his emotional state when the event took place, remembers very well what Lexi told him when he patched Mikey up after they made love the first time.

Correction. I made love to him. He just bent to my will in fear.

_...It is very bad for us Croatoans. Bad enough I considered asking for retirement after the visit to the Heart. When you guys start fighting internally, and I think you will, you’ll ask us to attack your brothers and all the sudden the whole system will collapse in on itself. We will no longer know where our loyalty lies or the loyalty of our colleagues…_

It very neatly summed up why the most trusted croats would suddenly go rogue, fleeing the ship like rats. They were afraid.

Mikey hadn’t told his brothers anything Lexi had said while talking off the records. He’d had to keep up appearance. Nobody knew who’d sold out Leo. That meant anyone of them might get suspicious and report it to _Otac_. If Mikey’s feelings for Lex got known… Lex death would be drawn out and horrible, and he’d have to watch it happen. That he himself would most likely get the same treatment didn’t scare him half as much.

When they’d discussed the matter of an Internal Affairs division they’d all put forth names of croats they trusted the most. Not all of his brothers liked Lexi, but every single one of them had mentioned him. There were other names put forth too, of course. They looked for special skills. An ability to be liked, to fit in. Rank was of lesser importance. The last year more and more croats had been interviewed and given the assignment alongside their normal duties. This time the fear and respect the божја браћа held amongst croats worked to their disadvantage. Even the IA croats were reluctant to report, in fear of angering the божја браћа with their findings. 

Aleksandr had been kept out of it. Mikey had been able to keep him at his side despite requests from his brothers on every continent. It’s was an easy argument. He and Luci had _one_ croat to guard them. One. 

Saul’s proposal that they’d create a rank of true power for croats to aspire to, came from to the info they _did_ get from the IAs. Some браћа opposed it, saying it’d make croats forget their place. Saul argued that the IAs would be less reluctant to report if they thought it may bring them power rather than punishment. It was agreed upon. The choice who to choose to elevate to the status of a general had stood between Aleksandr and a croat named Morgan Mohaine. The problem with Mohaine was that he’d gotten a stationary command in Africa and thus―while all the браћа had heard of him―he wasn’t widely known amongst his peers outside of Africa. So they needed to choose someone considered a legend amongst the croats. Once again, Aleksandr was mentioned.

Mikey knows Lexi _likes_ power. He deserves it. If anyone deserves to wield power almost like an equal to them, it’s Lexi. He can handle it. He knows what needs to be done. He’s experienced enough, and Mikey wants to give him everything. Still he’d said no. The discussions came to a standstill since they couldn’t agree on someone else to start out with. 

“You’ve got to survive, Seb. It’s an order, little one. I had to give up something very important to me for you to live. If not for you, your dad would still be here. He’d gone with me to my new location and gotten his new rank once I’d transferred. It wouldn't even seemed out of place if we were seen hanging out, since that’s part of his new job. We’re supposed to act somewhat familiar and relaxed with him now he’s a general.”

Mikey feels a bit stupid. The baby wouldn’t know what he’s talking about, couldn’t have followed his internal thought process. But then again, his voice is just noise to Seb anyway.

“When I was a kid, your dad was my hero in so many ways. He’s the only one outside the family I’ve really looked up to. Except Wayne Gretzky, but he doesn’t count, since that’s only about hockey.” Mikey smiles to himself. “I tried to tell him that without actually saying it, comparing him to Captain America. My brothers saw it as a joke. According to my brother Tyler, your dad was a pissbaby about it, so I guess the message passed him by too. Maybe for the best…. All things considered.”

Why were you so mad about being sent away, Lex?

He hadn’t anticipated that. He’d been too caught up in fretting about losing Lex. But by the initial look on Lexi’s face when he was told…

“I’ve tried to kill your dad, you know? He was unfazed or possibly annoyed when I did that. Your old man’s got ice in his veins. But when I told him he had to leave… For a moment he had the same facial expression as people who don’t expect it get when you stab them in the gut. He got to his feet. He was agitated, no. More upset and desperate. He begged me not to send him away. _Begged_. It may not sound like much to you, little Srebro, but you got to know this about your dad, he doesn’t beg. Sure, he gets pissy sometimes, but he obeys without question. Like, like when he was younger. He worked the trafficking gig. He hates it, yet he obeyed. You give him an order he’s averse to, he’ll still carry it out. It dims his light down though… Normally he shines brightly. You should see him…” Mikey’s wistful smile is exchanged for a troubled frown. “But this time, when I told him, he just… once he realized I wouldn’t change my mind, it was like his light… it didn’t dim down, it cut out completely. He went completely dark. I'd never expected him to react like that. It was hard…”

I'm sorry, Lex. I really am. But you went to bigger, better things. You’re safe. Your son might live. And you get the highest honour we’ve ever bestowed a Croatoan.

I wish you were here.

We should have been here together.

Just look at your son, Lex! He’s a little miracle.

You wouldn’t leave his side if you did. I know.

I’m going to have to pay for keeping him from you, won’t I?

“You’re goddam right, you will.” Mal’s voice startles him. His heart starts hammering faster and he turns his head to see his dead older brother (not older anymore. He died at 22) peek curiously over his shoulder.

“Go away, Mal.”

“No, no. Let’s discuss this, shall we?” 

Nothing to discuss. You wanted me to pull the plug on Anna, I didn’t. End of story. Now fuck off.

Mal smirks. “You got my motive all wrong, мали брат. I wanted what was best for you. And that was him dying before you bonded with him. Look at you, you’re already more in love with him than with the croat. And if your croat finds out about him, he is going to be pissed. You think he’ll forgive you? Hardly. I’m actually rooting for Seb to make it. It’ll make things interesting. You won’t need to fear us or _Otac_. It’s his punishment you’ll have to fear. You and Doug are in soo much trouble,” Mal says in malicious glee.

He won’t hurt me.

“You think he won’t? He called for a wipeout because someone shot you. And you’re not even family. You don’t mean anything to him. He just does his duty and obey because he has too. He doesn’t really care for you. Not really. But this is his son. He won’t be merciful.”

He cares. He cried when he thought I was dying.

Mal rolls his eyes. “He’s an _actor_. You saw him with Anna, controlling her emotions with a joystick. You can’t honestly believe he wasn’t doing the same to you?”

No. No. No. NoNONONO! Go away!

He carefully removes one hand from the incubator and then swipes it through his brother, meeting no resistance. Then he’s alone again. Mal’s dead. He isn’t real.

I don’t care if he was just faking his affection. _I DON’T CARE!_

He’s a croat. He exist to fulfil my needs and he did. I don’t need him to like it.

“Your daddy likes me,” he tells the baby decisively, trying to undo the bad feeling Mal left. 

Doubt.

Truth to be told, he hadn’t worried all that much about what Lexi thought of him until after he’d been sent away. Lexi said he cared, so he did. Croatoans don’t lie to a брат.

But maybe…

No. Doesn’t matter. Leave it.

It’s for the best.

I tried to kill him. 

I wasn’t thinking clearly. I should have just sent him away the moment after I’d gone to bed with him.

“You just focus on forming organs, little one. Don’t mind me.”

There’s a knock on the door and a nurse opens the door. “Hello. I’m nurse Catherine Markham. I belong to the neonatology team Dr. Mabduw hired to take care of your son. You _are_ the father, correct?”

“Yes. Will he survive?”

Her eyes crinkle above the mask, showing that she’s smiling. “It’s too early to tell, Sir. But we’ll do our best. I just wanted to introduce myself, as we’ll be seeing a lot of each other if all goes well. I’ll leave you alone with your son again now.”

“Thank you.”

* * *

Srebro spends 95 days in the hospital and has to undergo two surgeries. Michael comes by every single one of those days to sit with him. He and Doug agrees that Seb needs to be adopted by someone, where they can keep an eye on him. Doug informs him he’s found someone. A single father that’s a doctor and has a daughter. Seb will grow up with a sibling and with a rich father that has the knowledge to handle any possible disabilities or medical problems Seb might turn out to have. Doug says maybe it’s for the best if Mikey doesn’t know what family it is. He’s right and they both know it. Mal’s standing closeby laughing his ass off at Mikey, but Doug doesn’t see it. 

Mikey doesn’t even bother trying to hide his tears when he holds Seb for the last time, before Doug takes him away and leaves twin towns with him. And then, there’s two gaping holes in his heart, both caused by having feelings he shouldn’t have for a croat. If he hadn’t cared so much for Aleksandr, Seb would never had been born.

There’s four names on his list of forbidden loves now. Bella, Sam, Lexi, and Seb. He’s a failure as a бог брат. The voices agree. Luci still won’t talk to him except for to fight. It’s not a great comfort that Leo and Mal appears much more often―they never have nice things to say to him. Reality keeps slipping. He cries far more than a бог брат should. _Otac_ would not approve.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. This is the last we'll see of Mikey in the Croatoan. I'm sorry for ending it this way for him. But I've written a sequel to the Croatoan that takes place 2014 - . (Several chapters in as of yet.) I've yet to publish it since it contains spoilers for VC. But know that there's lighter times ahead. No ships have sunk yet, there's only a lack of wind for the moment. But take heart, there's a hurricane on the horizon. ^^' *sniggers* (Yes because that's good news. Apparently.)

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment. :) It makes my day!


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